Go Forth in July

Afterward, you'd as lief go to shore
These are the words that you spared me for:

Partake, awake, you're slaked in this life
And to every man, his black-handled knife

Tír na nÓg, and I'd forfeith this all
Sally forth, you're caught by its call

You think your days will rot on the vine
You think every advantage is mine:

As we weave, we see and we are
We do not wait, we leave and we're marred

Likely, love is founded in pain
As fairy flowers bloom after rain

What you've spent, the truths you forgot
Where you've went, the people you've sought:

Describe, alive, this tithe that we'll meet
Woven, spoken, open and sweet

Cups to mouth as lips to my hand
A woman from boy as angel from Man