Ay, yonder the thrushes is pipin' now, 'Way up the wee boreen; But maybe 'tis lonesome enough they'll look Waitin' on my Maureen! An' rosies is climbin' roun' hedges the day, An' peepin' down by, for to smell the new hay: Och but sure the wee child does be far away— Maureen—Maureen! An' down in the glen they're whistlin' a tune— The tune you loved, Maureen; But sad is yon grass that grows on a grave— Ay, grass so young an' green! Och circus wee ponies is jinglin' in town, An' swallows is wheelin' an' twitt'rin aroun', Ay, but sure av your voice for to hear wan soun', Maureen—Maureen! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLAY BISON IN A CAVE by CLARENCE MAJOR APOLLO AT LAX by KAREN SWENSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 115 by ALFRED TENNYSON A SONG OF A YOUNG LADY TO HER ANCIENT LOVER by JOHN WILMOT THE OUTGOING OF SABBATH by ALTER ABELSON MISTS by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG CRADLE SONG OF A SOLDIER'S WIFE by T. T. BARKER THE FASHIONS, 1806 by LEWIS BEACH BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE FIRST SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |