It’s a dark November, the sea battles the strand
In a shipwrecked dream of a green summer land.
But I still remember pretty Mary McKear,
Far west in Tir n'a Noir.
Were you a dream ? Were you real? Were you skin? Were you blood?
I can hear you laugh. I remember I laughed.
Beyond horizons,
so eroded and gone
are you mine,
my Mary McKear.
When my rusty body walks the hills heavily
I hear somebody whisper before winters, young:
Come back, friend, from the pubs and the drink.
Come again to Tir n'a Noir.
Come to skin. Come to mind from all that is grey.
I shall stroke your cheek, make your eyes blue.
Because behind horizons,
so eroded and gone
am I yours,
your Mary McKear.
So when the evening comes and I silently board,
and my lifeboat is lowered six feet in the ground,
I sail west in the sea to Mary McKear of
the green Tir n'a Noir.
To dream and to cheek and a heaven of consolation
where everything is mind and I hear your voice:
There are no horizons.
All you touch shall remain
I am yours,
your Mary McKear.
With the amount of input they've had in the correction of my initial attempt at a translation, I think a mention deserves to be made to Sylvrosa and oyvind.hatlevik, whose help made the above possible.
Thanks to both :)