My brave boy is far from me, Oh, my sorrow, on a strange, distant shore- My proud, dark- eyed sailor, When shall I see him once more? With heart near to the breaking, In the harvest field lonesome I bind. It is alone I'm hay- making, When each girl has her boy close and kind. Ah, heavy the steps I take, As to Chapel on the Sunday I walk. Since he's not to meet me, With his fond looks and low, tender talk; While my rose-tree richly flowering, Whose blossom he plucked for my breast, Its petals sadly is showering, At the long, bitter blast from the West. But deep down within my heart, There's a dear hope we'll be meeting next spring, My proud, dark- eyed sailor! And our marriage bells sweetly shall ring; Till beside you walking, high-headed, Under Castle O'Neill's shining towers, Upon your arm, when we're wedded, We'll pass through a pelting of flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH, SWEET CONTENT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE MAD GARDENER'S SONG by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: PICTURE-WRITING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW EPIGRAM: 18. THE ENEMY OF LIFE by THOMAS WYATT |