 | Dirge for Aoine and other poems |  |
xxxi
A CONNAUGHT LOVER'S LAMENT
(TO CAROLINE AUGUSTA HOPPER)
I will arise and go hence to the west,
And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
But O were I dead, were I dust, the fall
Of my own love's footstep would break my rest!
And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
But O were I dead, were I dust, the fall
Of my own love's footstep would break my rest!
My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!
I heed not cuckoo, or wren, or swallow:
Like a flying leaf in the sky's blue hollow
The heart in my breast is that's mad with woe.
I heed not cuckoo, or wren, or swallow:
Like a flying leaf in the sky's blue hollow
The heart in my breast is that's mad with woe.
Because of the words your lips have spoken
(O dear black head that I must not follow)
My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
As ice on the water my heart is broken.
(O dear black head that I must not follow)
My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
As ice on the water my heart is broken.
O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,
The swallow goes south with you: I go west
Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.
I am the poppy and you the sickle;
My heart is broken within my breast.
The swallow goes south with you: I go west
Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.
I am the poppy and you the sickle;
My heart is broken within my breast.
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