The golden hill where long-forgotten kings
Keep lonely watch upon their feasting-floor
Is silent now, — the Dagda’s harp no more
Makes sun and moon move to its murmurous strings;
And never in the leafy star-led Springs
Will Caer and Aengus haunt the river shore,
For deep beneath an ogham-carven door
Dust dulls the dew-white wonder of their wings.

Yet one may linger loving the lost dream–
The magic of the heart that cannot die,
Although the Rood Destroy the quicken rods;
To him through earth and air and hollow stream
Wild music winds, as two swans wheeling cry
Above the cromlech of the vanished gods

Newgrange, Thomas Samuel Jones, Jr