In the north there is a man who screams when the waters sing
For he once came cross the banshee of the seaside spring

And in that failing light saw wrapped her pallid strands
Round the whole of her one and sallow pointed hand

To the trunk-grown sword and verdant surcoat 'tween
A phantom defiler, a hanged man, the crime unseen

She sullen moved to mournful wail, deep of soul
But found no purchase in mortal air to extol

For where once was this sad shadow's throat
A cruel sentence had some former blade wrote

In a sick and seeping horror the man did freeze
As the banshee descended towards the trees

At length the water sprang from earth again
His movement restored, bloods color to skin

The greatest terror he recalled in lonesome woe
Is of the dead woman forced to her silent sorrow