 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE REAPER'S REVENGE
Oft and oft I dream, astore,
With secret sighs and laughter,
How once you reaped the field before,
And I came gatherin' after.
While tenderly, tenderly, with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hope to woo me.
With secret sighs and laughter,
How once you reaped the field before,
And I came gatherin' after.
While tenderly, tenderly, with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hope to woo me.
Oft and oft I'm dreamin' still,
With smiles and tears together,
Of how I stretched, so weak and ill,
Thro' all the wintry weather;
While tenderly, tenderly, still you'd tap,
Seeking news of Norah;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than father's voice, acora!
With smiles and tears together,
Of how I stretched, so weak and ill,
Thro' all the wintry weather;
While tenderly, tenderly, still you'd tap,
Seeking news of Norah;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than father's voice, acora!
Most I mind the plan conceal'd
That thro' the spring amused you,
To wait to find me in the field,
Where rashly I refused you;
Then earnestly, earnestly, in my eyes
Gaze, till I return'd you
The look of looks and sigh of sighs
On the spot where once I spurn'd vou.
That thro' the spring amused you,
To wait to find me in the field,
Where rashly I refused you;
45
Gaze, till I return'd you
The look of looks and sigh of sighs
On the spot where once I spurn'd vou.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |