| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
172 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
|
||
|
Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. When will that day-star, mildly springing,
Warm our isle with peace and love ? When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above ? |
||
|
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING
THE time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing
The light that lies
In woman's eyes Has been my heart's undoing. Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn'd the love she brought me,
My only books
Were woman's looks, And folly all they taught me.
Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the Sprite,
Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me; But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray
Was turn'd away, Oh ! winds could not outrun me. |
||
|
|
||