 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE MILKING CAN
All in Tipp'rary's Golden Vale
I met with Kate Magee,
Upon her poll the milking pail,
A lamb beside her knee.
O, her eyes were dreams of blue,
With the sunlight dancing through,
And her laughing lips the hue
Of the rose upon the tree;
And a step so light, the daisies white
Scarce stirr'd upon the lea.
I met with Kate Magee,
Upon her poll the milking pail,
A lamb beside her knee.
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With the sunlight dancing through,
And her laughing lips the hue
Of the rose upon the tree;
And a step so light, the daisies white
Scarce stirr'd upon the lea.
For a year, an eager, aching year,
With pleasure hard by pain,
And many a hope and many a fear,
I'd sought her love to gain.
Ev'ry art of tongue and eye
Fond lads with lasses try,
I had used with ceaseless sigh—
Yet all, yet all in vain;
And a fortnight since she made me wince
With her wit in that very lane.
With pleasure hard by pain,
And many a hope and many a fear,
I'd sought her love to gain.
Ev'ry art of tongue and eye
Fond lads with lasses try,
I had used with ceaseless sigh—
Yet all, yet all in vain;
And a fortnight since she made me wince
With her wit in that very lane.
But that morning, at the tender tale
Of trouble in my eyes,
Her footsteps fail, she lowers her pail,
And soft my name she sighs;
And a happy, happy man,
I'd her slender waist to span,
And a kiss above her can,
And a small hand for my prize,
As soft as silk, as white as milk,
And as warm as summer skies.
Of trouble in my eyes,
Her footsteps fail, she lowers her pail,
And soft my name she sighs;
And a happy, happy man,
I'd her slender waist to span,
And a kiss above her can,
And a small hand for my prize,
As soft as silk, as white as milk,
And as warm as summer skies.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |