(unfinished)
In the soft Irish gloaming when wild birds
are homing
Along the dim water they wheel to the West
And calling and crying as onward they're
flying
Wild wings over Erne fly home to their
rest.
So hearts that are dreaming of Erne's soft gleaming
Afar from the home shore as fades the last
light
In longing and yearning are
Westward returning
Wild wings over Erne fly home in the night