 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
A SONG OF KILLARNEY
By the Lakes of Killarney one morning in May
On my pipe of green holly I warbled away,
While a blackbird high up on the arbutus tree
Gave back my gay music with gushes of glee,
When my Eileen's voice stole
From the thicket of holly
And turned just the whole
Of our fluting to folly;
And softly along
Through the myrtle and heather
The maid and her song
Swept upon us together.
On my pipe of green holly I warbled away,
While a blackbird high up on the arbutus tree
Gave back my gay music with gushes of glee,
When my Eileen's voice stole
From the thicket of holly
And turned just the whole
Of our fluting to folly;
And softly along
Through the myrtle and heather
The maid and her song
Swept upon us together.
'Twas an old Irish tale full of passionate trust
Of two faithful lovers long laid in the dust,
And her eyes as she sang looked so far, far away,
She went by me, nor knew she went by, where I lay
And myself and the grass
And the deeshy, red daisies
Should let our love pass,
Only whisp'ring her praises;
While the lass and her lay
Through the myrtle and heather
Like a dream died away,
O'er the mountain together.
Of two faithful lovers long laid in the dust,
And her eyes as she sang looked so far, far away,
She went by me, nor knew she went by, where I lay
And myself and the grass
And the deeshy, red daisies
Should let our love pass,
Only whisp'ring her praises;
While the lass and her lay
Through the myrtle and heather
Like a dream died away,
O'er the mountain together.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |