Once I was standing near witch
Her black-star hairs were waving by mountain wind
I was not beautiful, not bravely rich
But at that time I saw her soul became blind.
Her eyes - a hills of misty Ireland,
I saw a bloody smile when she gave to raven post
And in this really gravely silent
I understood and found what she had for ever lost:
Some people call it freedom,
Another tell that it is hard illness cold
But if you see witch near blinding..
You'll understand which feeling here involved