Oimé, Oimé, woman of the white breasts, Eilidh! Woman of the golden hair, and lips of the red, red rowan! Oimé, O-rì, Oimé! Where is the swan that is whiter, with breast more smooth, Or the wave on the sea that moves as thou movest, Eilidh— Oimé, a-rò; Oimé, a-rò! It is the marrow in my bones that is aching, aching, Eilidh: It is the blood in my body that is a bitter wild tide, Oimé! O-rì, Ohion, O-rì, aròne! Is it the heart of thee calling that I am hearing, Eilidh, Or the wind in the wood, or the beating of the sea, Eilidh, Or the beating of the sea? Shule, shule agràh, shule agràh, shule agràh, Shule! Heart of me, move to me! move to me, heart of me, Eilidh, Eilidh, Move to me! Ah! let the wild hawk take it, the name of me, Cormac Conlingas, Take it and tear at thy heart with it, heart that of old was so hot with it, Eilidh, Eilidh, O-rì, Eilidh, Eilidh! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE DARK ANGEL by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON PRO PATRIA MORI by THOMAS MOORE ON THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF READING MATTER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE PAGODA by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |