A Book of Irish Verse Part 22

On a green bed of rushes All last night I lay, And I flung it abroad With the heat of the day.

And my love came behind me-- He came from the south; His breast to my bosom, His mouth to my mouth.

_Douglas Hyde_

MY LOVE, O, SHE IS MY LOVE

_From the Irish_

She casts a spell, O, casts a spell, Which haunts me more than I can tell.

Dearer because she makes me ill, Than who would will to make me well.

She is my store, O, she my store, Whose grey eye wounded me so sore, Who will not place in mine her palm, Who will not calm me any more.

She is my pet, O, she my pet, Whom I can never more forget; Who would not lose by me one moan, Nor stone upon my cairn set,

She is my roon, O, she my roon, Who tells me nothing, leaves me soon; Who would not lose by me one sigh, Were death and I within one room.

She is my dear, O, she my dear, Who cares not whether I be here.

Who would not weep when I am dead, Who makes me shed the silent tear.

Hard my case, O, hard my case, How have I lived so long a s.p.a.ce, She does not trust me any more, But I adore her silent face.

She is my choice, O, she my choice, Who never made me to rejoice; Who caused my heart to ache so oft, Who put no softness in her voice.

Great is my grief, O, great my grief, Neglected, scorned beyond belief, By her who looks at me askance, By her who grants me no relief.

She's my desire, O, my desire, More glorious than the bright sun's fire; Who more than wind--blown ice more cold, Had I the boldness to sit by her.

She it is who stole my heart, But left a void and aching smart, But if she soften not her eye, Then life and I shall surely part.

_Douglas Hyde_

I SHALL NOT DIE FOR THEE

_From the Irish_

For thee I shall not die, Woman high of fame and name; Foolish men thou mayest slay, I and they are not the same.

Why should I expire For the fire of any eye, Slender waist, or swan-like limb, Is't for them that I should die?

The round b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the fresh skin, Cheeks crimson, hair so long and rich; Indeed, indeed, I shall not die, Please G.o.d, not I, for any such.

The golden hair, the forehead thin, The chaste mien, the gracious ease, The rounded heel, the languid tone, Fools alone find death from these.

Thy sharp wit, thy perfect calm, Thy thin palm like foam of sea; Thy white neck, thy blue eye, I shall not die for thee.

Woman, graceful as the swan, A wise man did nurture me, Little palm, white neck, bright eye, I shall not die for ye.

_Douglas Hyde_

RIDDLES

_From the Irish_

A great, great house it is, A golden candlestick it is, Guess it rightly, Let it not go by thee.

_Heaven_.

There's a garden that I ken, Full of little gentlemen, Little caps of blue they wear, And green ribbons very fair.

_Flax_.

He comes to ye amidst the brine The b.u.t.terfly of the sun, The man of the coat so blue and fine, With red thread his shirt is done.

_A Lobster_.

You see it come in on the shoulders of men, Like a thread of the silk it will leave us again.

_Turf_.

_Douglas Hyde_

LOUGH BRAY

A little lonely moorland lake, Its waters brown and cool and deep-- The cliff, the hills behind it make A picture for my heart to keep.

For rock and heather, wave and strand, Wore tints I never saw them wear; The June sunshine was o'er the land, Before, 'twas never half so fair!

The amber ripples sang all day, And singing spilled their crowns of white Upon the beach, in thin pale spray That streaked the sober sand with light.

The amber ripples sang their song, When suddenly from far o'erhead A lark's pure voice mixed with the throng Of lovely things about us spread.

Some flowers were there, so near the brink Their shadows in the waves were thrown; While mosses, green and gray and pink, Grew thickly round each smooth dark stone.

And, over all, the summer sky, Shut out the town we left behind; 'Twas joy to stand in silence by, One bright chain linking mind to mind.