Ghost-bereft :: :: University of Virginia Library

Whiles I've thought to meself 'tis contrary, a colleen's no chance whatsoe'er
To be choosin' the colour she's bound the best days of her lifetime to wear:
A skirt, to be sure, or a riband bow, or a scarf, that you'll soon throw by,
Blue, as it happens, or yellow, or puce, you can take them to please your eye;
But whethen now, what great good's in that, if the best you can do after all
Is cover your head up close, and hope they'll not notice it under your shawl?
I was foolish belike to be mindin', but many a time would I fret
At their callin' me ‘Red-Nob,’ and passin' the ould jokes that they'd never forget.

And some people mistrusted their luck if they met me the road that they went ;
Sure 'twas no fault of mine it come always agin me to thwart and torment.
So I'd envy the ones that was different. The never a poppy I'd pick,
Like those two by this bank, but I'd wish in me heart I'd the black of theirs thick
On the head of me. Troth, I'd be grudgin' the blackbirds their glossy dark wings,
I would so—and the crows in the field. But beyond all them wild livin' things
Was I jealous of Maureen, me sister, come home from Saint Monica's school,
For you'd think every thread of her hair had been reeled off a silky black spool;

The great armful, that scarcely her two hands 'ud hold when she took it to twist,
Drawn out long as night's shadows, and soft round her bit of white face as the mist;
And me own like naught better than ravellin's you'd get from a sodger's red coat,
And me cheeks as thick dusted wid freckles as a foxglove's quare specklety throat;
And no use to be wishin' and grievin', yet that I done times and agin,
Till it seemed to meself me fool's head was on fire both widout and widin.

In some parts of Ireland it is thought unlucky to meet a red-haired woman when setting out.