The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves ... Second Edition |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
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THE LIGHT IN THE SNOW |
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 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE LIGHT IN THE SNOW
Oh! Pat, the bitter day when you bravely parted from us,
The mother and myself on the cruel quays of Cork:
When you took the long kiss, and you gave the faithful promise
That you'd soon bring us over to be wid you at New York.
The mother and myself on the cruel quays of Cork:
When you took the long kiss, and you gave the faithful promise
That you'd soon bring us over to be wid you at New York.
But the times they grew worse through the wild, weary winter,
And my needle all we had to find livin' for us two;
While the mother drooped and drooped till I knelt down forenint her
And closed her dyin' eyes, dear—but still no word of you.
And my needle all we had to find livin' for us two;
While the mother drooped and drooped till I knelt down forenint her
And closed her dyin' eyes, dear—but still no word of you.
Then the neighbours thought you false to me, but I knew you better,
Though the bud became the leaf, and the corn began to start;
And the swallow she flew back, and still sorra letter,
But I sewed on and on, Pat, and kep' a stout heart.
Though the bud became the leaf, and the corn began to start;
And the swallow she flew back, and still sorra letter,
But I sewed on and on, Pat, and kep' a stout heart.
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Till the leaves they decayed, and the rook and the starlin'
Returned to the stubble, and I'd put by enough
To start at long last in search of my darlin'
Alone across the ocean so unruly and rough.
Returned to the stubble, and I'd put by enough
To start at long last in search of my darlin'
Alone across the ocean so unruly and rough.
Until at the end, very weak and very weary,
I reached the overside, and started on my search;
But no account for ever of Patrick for his Mary,
By advertisin' for you, dear, or callin' you in church.
I reached the overside, and started on my search;
But no account for ever of Patrick for his Mary,
By advertisin' for you, dear, or callin' you in church.
Yet still I struggled on, though my heart was almost broken
And my feet torn entirely on the rough, rugged stone;
Till that day it came round, signs by and by token,
The day five year that we parted you, mavrone!
And my feet torn entirely on the rough, rugged stone;
Till that day it came round, signs by and by token,
The day five year that we parted you, mavrone!
Oh! the snow it was sweepin' through the dark, silent city,
And the cruel wind it cut through my thin, tattered gown.
Still I prayed the good God on his daughter to take pity;
When a sudden, strange light shone forenint me up the town.
And the cruel wind it cut through my thin, tattered gown.
Still I prayed the good God on his daughter to take pity;
When a sudden, strange light shone forenint me up the town.
And the light it led on till at last right opposite
A large, lonely house it vanished, as I stood,
Wid my heart axing wildly of me, was it, oh, was it
A warnin' of ill or a token of good?
A large, lonely house it vanished, as I stood,
Wid my heart axing wildly of me, was it, oh, was it
A warnin' of ill or a token of good?
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When the light kindled up agin, brighter and bigger,
And the shadow of a woman across the windy passed;
While close, close, and closer to her stole a man's figure,
And I fainted, as you caught me in your true arms at last.
And the shadow of a woman across the windy passed;
While close, close, and closer to her stole a man's figure,
And I fainted, as you caught me in your true arms at last.
Then Pat, my own Pat, I saw that you were altered
To the shadow of yourself by the fever on the brain!
While “Mary, Mary darlin',” at last your lips they faltered,
You've given your poor Patrick his mem'ry back again.”
To the shadow of yourself by the fever on the brain!
While “Mary, Mary darlin',” at last your lips they faltered,
You've given your poor Patrick his mem'ry back again.”
And the good, gentle priest, when he comes, is never weary
Of sayin', as he spakes of that light in the snow,
“The Lord heard your prayer, and in pity for you, Mary,
Restored Pat the raison that he lost long ago.”
Of sayin', as he spakes of that light in the snow,
“The Lord heard your prayer, and in pity for you, Mary,
Restored Pat the raison that he lost long ago.”
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |