 | Bog-land Studies |  |
IV
So wan evenin'—I know if I think, 'twas whin
last they were cuttin' the oats,
Maybe four months from now, whin outside past the bars there's an odd snow-flake floats,
But it seems to me feelin' a world's breadth away, and a life's lenth ago—
Well, the two of us sat on the hill, an' the sun was about gettin' low,
An' there wasn't a ray on the lan', for the dhrift o'
dark cloud overhead
Sthretched away like a roof, till just rimmin' the west ran the light in a thread,
Same as if 'twas a lid liftin' up on bright hinges; an' sorra a breath
Thro' the leaves or the grass, for the win' never stirred, an' 'twas stiller than death.
Maybe four months from now, whin outside past the bars there's an odd snow-flake floats,
But it seems to me feelin' a world's breadth away, and a life's lenth ago—
Well, the two of us sat on the hill, an' the sun was about gettin' low,
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Sthretched away like a roof, till just rimmin' the west ran the light in a thread,
Same as if 'twas a lid liftin' up on bright hinges; an' sorra a breath
Thro' the leaves or the grass, for the win' never stirred, an' 'twas stiller than death.
An' so Nelly'd a poppy-bud pulled, wid the red
all crased up in the green,
An' sat smoothin' its leaves on her lap, till ye saw its black heart in between;
An' her hair curlin' over the shine of her eyes, an' a smile on her mouth,
As I knew by the dint in her cheek turned aside from me. Sure 'twas the truth,
But I dunno for why of a suddint the notion come into me mind
That in all o' that bog-land it's Nell was the purtiest thing ye could find;
An' thinks I: ‘Sure the slip of a lass, whin the
days o' me life 'ill be dark,
Is the same as yon glame in the west that widout it has sorra a spark.’
An' sat smoothin' its leaves on her lap, till ye saw its black heart in between;
An' her hair curlin' over the shine of her eyes, an' a smile on her mouth,
As I knew by the dint in her cheek turned aside from me. Sure 'twas the truth,
But I dunno for why of a suddint the notion come into me mind
That in all o' that bog-land it's Nell was the purtiest thing ye could find;
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Is the same as yon glame in the west that widout it has sorra a spark.’
| Bog-land Studies | |