Gin fernyear's wares wis buskit up like new,
The wale o luck an wanweird setten furth
Wad A devoid the ane that gart me grue
Or lap in airms the greetin wi the mirth?
Coud hert's bluid thole the sauntit oors tae miss
Whan luve begoud, unspoken an unthocht
The still, het day whan wi a breingin kiss
Tae wauken tent twa dernit howps wis brocht?
Niver, no e'en tae pit frae mynd the hell
O whit A dree'd o flytin an o pain
In fruster fleein frae thee an masel,
Ma darg a midden, till ma strenth owergane
A kent at last that baunds predestinate
Helt fast, an aw forthinkin wis ower late.
Augusta, Lady Gregory (1852-1932)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment