When Bran and his more worldly-wise companions
Were settling happily in the idyll
Of the Island of Women, I spoilt it
For them - and for me - by being homesick
For Ireland. But then we found there was No longer any welcome for us there.
Maybe out of resentment for the months
We'd spent living in Love's contentedness,
They wouldn't let us land, so now we're fated
To sail for ever in the middle seas, outcast
Alike from the one shore and the other.
