When all were dreaming
But Pastheen Power,
A light came streaming
Beneath her bower:
A heavy foot
At her door delayed,
A heavy hand 
On the latch was laid.

"Now who dare venture,
At this dark hour,
Unbid to enter
My maiden bower?"
"Dear Pastheen, open
The door to me,
And your true lover
You'll surely see."

"My own true lover,
So tall and brave,
Lives exiled over 
The angry wave."
"Your true love's body 
Lies on the bier,
His faithful spirit
Is with you here."

"His look was cheerful,
His voice was gay;
Your speech is fearful,
Your face is grey;
And sad and sunken
Your eye of blue,
But Patrick, Patrick,
Alas! 'tis you!"

Ere dawn was breaking
She heard below
The two cocks shaking
Their wings to crow.
"Oh, hush you, hush you,
Both red and grey,
Or you will hurry
My love away.

"Oh hush your crowing,
Both grey and red,
Or he'll be going
To join the dead;
Or, cease from calling
His ghost to the mould,
And I'll come crowning
Your combs with gold."

When all were dreaming
But Pastheen Power,
A light went streaming 
From out her bower;
And on the morrow,
When they awoke,
They knew that sorrow
Her heart had broke.

("Song of the Ghost" by Alfred Percival Graves, printed in Poems of the Irish People, 2016)

This poem is both sweet and sad, something I noticed with a lot of the Irish poems. Poor Pastheen, whose love was exiled and forced from his home. When he is dead, his spirit comes to claim the bride he never got to marry. Then she dies of a broken heart. At least the lovers were able to be together for one night, even if it was in death.