 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE COLLEEN DONN
My Colleen Donn of the golden glances,
The storm black tresses and the shape of snow,
'Tis little surely your light heart fancies
How for your sake a grieving man I go.
The storm black tresses and the shape of snow,
'Tis little surely your light heart fancies
How for your sake a grieving man I go.
The lone night long under woe I'm waking,
While you are taking the joys of sleep;
The bright day through, while you bless another,
Your troth plight breaking, like a ghost I creep.
While you are taking the joys of sleep;
The bright day through, while you bless another,
Your troth plight breaking, like a ghost I creep.
My Colleen Donn of the dancing dimple,
The soft discourses and the love-lit eyes,
How true I thought you, how fresh and simple
In every wish, oh! how unworldly wise!
The soft discourses and the love-lit eyes,
How true I thought you, how fresh and simple
In every wish, oh! how unworldly wise!
My Colleen Donn, there was that about you,
None dared to doubt you—yet you're gone, you're gone!
My winter's warmth, and my summer's shadow,
I'm but lost without you, my own Colleen Donn.
None dared to doubt you—yet you're gone, you're gone!
My winter's warmth, and my summer's shadow,
I'm but lost without you, my own Colleen Donn.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |