Her hair falls in waves down upon her white skin

From Seamus Heaney's Wintering Out (1972):

Maighdean Mara
(for Seán O h-Eochaidh)

I.

She sleeps now, her cold breasts
Dandled by undertow,
Her hair lifted and laid.
Undulant slow seawracks
Cast about shin and thigh,
Bangles of wort, drifting
Weeds catch, dislodge gently.

This is the first great sleep
Of homecoming, eight
Land years between hearth and
Bed steeped and dishevelled.
Her magic garment al-
most ocean-tinctured still.

II.

He stole her garment as
She combed her hair: follow
Was all that she could do.
He hid it in the eaves
And charmed her there, four walls,
Warm floor, man-love nightly
In earshot of the waves.

She suffered milk and birth—
She had no choice—conjured
Patterns of home and drained
The tidesong from her voice.
Then the thatcher came and stuck
Her garment in a stack.
Children carried tales back.

III.

In night air, entering
Foam, she wrapped herself
With smoke-reeks from the thatch,
Straw-musts and films of mildew.
She dipped his secret there
Forever and uncharmed

Accents of fisher wives,
The dead hold of bedrooms,
Dread of the night and morrow,
Her children's brush and combs.
She sleeps now, her cold breasts
Dandled by undertow.

For the first time all year, it feels like summer outside.