Wrapt in mist and washed with rain
Is the hill of Rahinane;
Compassed by the hosts of sleep
Is its keep. Only shadows come and go;
Only wraiths flit to and fro;
And the bat, grotesque and blind,
And the wind. Just a shard of tattered hope
On a barren Kerry slope;
Just a ruin in the rain,
Rahinane!