Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking, The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill, The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking-- Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slumbering, still? Oh hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? Oh hast thou forgotten this day we must part? It may be for years and it may be forever; Oh why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?