Upon the crags of mountains high Bathed in rust and carmine red Did the Cailleach’s bird give cry For earth and arbor reaching the sky Fell at harvest, cold and dead Atop the cliffs over waters deep Where sea-crows, soaring, wheel and climb Did the Cailleach’s bird thus weep For chilled was the sea in silent sleep Touched by icy midnight rime The Cailleach’s Bird Within the oakwoods russet and gold Strode the hart of hide sanguine, thus Did the Cailleach’s bird behold Beasts, by harvest, made wan and lean As leaves died, dyed red, and forgot their verdant green Beneath the corn moon gleaming grey Where strewn, lay sheaves of barley and malt Did the Cailleach’s bird then say That its mistress, with staff, turned soil to salt And thus brought wide, growing lands to halt Around the bonfire crackling free Where Samhain commenced with feast and tale Did the Cailleach’s bird there see Kin and kine carousing, hearty and hale With spirits roaming dusken wood and winding trail The Cailleach’s bird, white of feather Then took flight over hill and heather Returned to its mistress, she cold and pale Alighted on her shoulder and spake forth its tale Of summer gone, and winter looming, and the rustling autumn veil between
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