I wish and I wish 
And I wish I were 
A golden bee 
In the blue of the air, 
Winging my way 
At the mouth of day 
To the honey-marges 
Of Loch-ciuin-ban; 
Or a little green drake, 
Or a silver swan, 
Floating upon 
The Stream of Aili, 
And I to be swimming 
Gaily, gaily!

I wish and I wish 
And I wish I could be 
A bud on a branch 
Of the red-thorn tree 
That blows at the head 
Of Blanaid's Bed, 
And sheds a petal 
At every breath;
Or a white milestone
On the shining path
That climbs the cairn
And dips the hollow,
Up to the hills
of bright Maghmeala.

 ... 

If wishes were fairies
I would not stay, 
But they would wile 
My soul away; 
And peace would creep 
Into my sleep 
As soft as a dream 
At evenfall, 
When the crickets sing 
And the curlews call; 
And 'tis I would wake 
For no new morrow 
On the grey round 
Of this world of sorrow!