The Tin-Whistle Player

'Tis long since, long since, since I heard

A tin-whistle played,

And heard the tunes, the ha'penny tunes

That nobody made!

The tunes that were before Cendfind

And Cir went Ireland's rounds

That were before the surety

That strings have given sounds!

And now is standing in the mist,

And jigging backward there,

Shrilling with fingers and with breath,

A tin-whistle player!

He has hare's eyes, a long face rimmed

Around with badger-grey;

Aimless, like cries of mountain birds

The tunes he has to play

The tunes that are for stretches bare,

And men whose lives are lone

And I had seen that face of his

Sculptured on cross of stone,

That long face, in a place of graves

With nettles overgrown.