He wrought in the field through the length av the day, A tossin', an' lappin', an' ruckin' his hay; Wid never a care but a meadow to mow,— Or maybe wee crops in the Spring for to sow; Ay, but Molly Carew Wid a ribbon av blue Come a slippin' down by on a ledge! A strokin' wee heifers he strolled to the lane, Jist whistlin', an' liltin', nor seein' soft rain; An' never a thought but the trip av her feet— Or the twist av thorn-fence where maybe they'd meet!— But sure Molly Carew, Wid wee Martin McHugh Come a whisperin' roun' by the hedge! Ay, down in his field, an' hedges ablow— Wee trailin' white trains an' they glintin' like snow— He'd sorra a thought but the bride he'd have wed! Thon wisp av blue silk—or the words he'd have said!— Och but Mrs. HcHugh,— Troth she never jist knew!— An' him trimmin' the twist av a hedge! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DARKEST HOUR; OXFORD, 1917 by GEORGE SANTAYANA VLAMERTINGHE: PASSING THE CHATEAU, JULY 1917 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN EPILOGUE TO DRAMATIS PERSONAE by ROBERT BROWNING THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST SONNET by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |