SO, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me All alone by myself in this place, But I'm sure you will never deceive me -- Oh no, if there's truth in that face. Though England's a beautiful city, Full of illigant boys -- oh, what then? You would not forget your poor Terence; You'll come back to ould Ireland again. Och! those English, deceivers by nature, Though maybe you'd think them sincere, They'll say you're a sweet charming creature, But don't you believe them, my dear. No, Kathleen, agrah! don't be minding The flattering speeches they'll make; Just tell them a poor boy in Ireland Is breaking his heart for your sake. It's folly to keep you from going, Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case -- For, Kathleen, you know, there's no knowing When next I shall see your sweet face. And when you come back to me, Kathleen, None the better will I be off then -- You'll be spaking such beautiful English, Sure, I won't know my Kathleen again. Eh, now, where's the need of this hurry? Don't flutter me so in this way, -- I've forgot, 'twixt the grief and the flurry, Every word I was maning to say; Now just wait a minute, I bid ye, -- Can I talk if you bother me so? Oh, Kathleen, my blessing go wid ye, Ev'ry inch of the way that you go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HESTER [SAVORY] by CHARLES LAMB EVERYONE SANG by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 4. THE PASSIONS by JOHN ARMSTRONG IN UTRUMQUE PARATUS by MATTHEW ARNOLD NORTHERN LIGHTS by EINAR BENEDIKTSSON GERARDA by ELOISE ALBERTA VERONICA BIBB |