 | Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill |  |
28
“THE OULD LAD.”
I mind meself a wee boy wi' no plain talk,
An' standin' not the height o' two peats;
There was things meself consated 'or the time that I could walk,
An' who's to tell when wit an' childer meets?
'Twas the daisies down in the low grass,
The stars high up in the skies,
The first I knowed of a mother's face
Wi' the kind love in her eyes,
Och, och!
The kind love in her eyes.
An' standin' not the height o' two peats;
There was things meself consated 'or the time that I could walk,
An' who's to tell when wit an' childer meets?
'Twas the daisies down in the low grass,
The stars high up in the skies,
The first I knowed of a mother's face
Wi' the kind love in her eyes,
Och, och!
The kind love in her eyes.
29
I went the way of other lads that's neither good nor bad,
An' still, d'ye see, a lad has far to go;
But the things meself consated when I wasn't sick nor sad,
They're aisy told, an' little use to know.
'Twas whiles a boat on the say beyont,
An' whiles a girl on the shore,
An' whiles a scrape o' the fiddle-strings,
Or maybe an odd thing more
In troth!
Maybe an odd thing more.
An' still, d'ye see, a lad has far to go;
But the things meself consated when I wasn't sick nor sad,
They're aisy told, an' little use to know.
'Twas whiles a boat on the say beyont,
An' whiles a girl on the shore,
An' whiles a scrape o' the fiddle-strings,
Or maybe an odd thing more
In troth!
Maybe an odd thing more.
A man, they say, in spite of all, is betther for a wife,
In-undher this ould roof I live me lone;
I never seen the woman yet I wanted all me life,
An' I never made me pillow on a stone.
'Tis “fancy buys the ribbon” an' all,
An' fancy sticks to the young;
But a man of his years can do wi' a pipe
Can smoke an' hould his tongue,
D'ye mind,
Smoke an' hould his tongue.
In-undher this ould roof I live me lone;
I never seen the woman yet I wanted all me life,
An' I never made me pillow on a stone.
30
An' fancy sticks to the young;
But a man of his years can do wi' a pipe
Can smoke an' hould his tongue,
D'ye mind,
Smoke an' hould his tongue.
Ye see me now an ould man, his work near done,
Sure the hair upon me head's gone white;
But the things meself consated 'or the time that I could run,
They're the nearest to me heart this night.
Just the daisies down in the low grass,
The stars high up in the skies,
The first I knowed of a mother's face
Wi' the kind love in her eyes,
Och, och!
The kind love in her eyes.
Sure the hair upon me head's gone white;
But the things meself consated 'or the time that I could run,
They're the nearest to me heart this night.
Just the daisies down in the low grass,
The stars high up in the skies,
The first I knowed of a mother's face
Wi' the kind love in her eyes,
Och, och!
The kind love in her eyes.
| Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill | |