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84 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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They may win a golden store—sure the whins were
golden too; And no foreign skies hold beauty like the rainy skies
they knew; Nor any night-wind cool the brows as did the foggy
dew.
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They are going, going, going, and we cannot bid them
stay; The fields are now the strangers' where the strangers'
cattle stray. Oh / Kathaleen Ni Houlihan, your way's a thorny
way /
THINKING LONG
OH, thinkin' long's the weary work ! It breaks my heart from dawn Till all we wee, wee, friendly stars Come out at dayli' gone. An' thinkin' long's the weary work,
When I must spin, and spin, To drive the fearsome fancies out An' hold the hopeful in !
Ah, sure my lad is far away !
My lad who left our glen When from the soul of Ireland came
A call for fightin' men ; I miss his gray eyes glancin' bright,
I miss his liltin' song, And that is why, the lonesome day,
I'm always thinkin' long. |
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