Bright Is the Ring of Words

Bright is the ring of wordsWhen the right man rings them,Fair the fall of songsWhen the singer sings them.Still they are carolled and said—On wings they are carried—After the singer is deadAnd the maker buried.

Low as the singer liesIn the field of heather,Songs of his fashion bringThe swains together.And when the west is redWith the sunset embers,The lover lingers and singsAnd the maid remembers.