Though we’ve not won I’m sure of profit.
And o’er canon lost we needn’t repent.
And though we’ll again out-sing day,
Marian’s father’s gone dead today –
At a loss — I’ll yet sing out to him.
Sing out sea purple back out crossing.
Dying (recall) he’d not consent!
Though consoling thistle be this isle’s ore
Given our purpled fields I’m sure –
Anon — soon we’ll all sing out ‘gain.
G‘ven dying I’d say we once swore:
If we trudge tired and daggered ignore.
If we digging out purple-dead read –
Another Ruadh’s coral rests now instead –
Read neither shelter nor dig pit no more.
Grieving thorny stand here I attest.
Though thistles tired seem empty floret.
Shelter back out this my friend’s sight –
Board grief ferry enter purpling dark –
Marian grows out o’ the spell of his death.