Edain Came Out Of Midhir'S Hill, And Lay Beside Young Aengus In His Tower Of Glass, Where Time Is Drowned In Odour-Laden Winds And Druid Moons, And Murmuring Of Boughs, And Sleepy Boughs, And Boughs Where Apples Made Of Opal And Ruhy And Pale Chrysolite Awake Unsleeping Fires; And Wove Seven Strings, Sweet With All Music, Out Of His Long Hair, Because Her Hands Had Been Made Wild By Love. When Midhir'S Wife Had Changed Her To A Fly, He Made A Harp With Druid Apple-Wood That She Among Her Winds Might Know He Wept; And From That Hour He Has Watched Over None But Faithful Lovers.