MY love to fight the Saxon goes, And bravely shines his sword of steel; A heron's feather decks his brows, And a spur on either heel; His steed is blacker than the sloe, And fleeter than the falling star; Amid the surging ranks he'll go And shout for joy of war. Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle; let the white wool drift and dwindle Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my Love's coat of steel. rk! the timid, turning treadle crooning soft, old-fashioned ditties To the low, slow murmur of the brown round wheel. My love is pledged to Ireland's fight; My love would die for Ireland's weal, To win her back her ancient right, And make her foemen reel. Oh! close I'll clasp him to my breast When homeward from the war he comes; The fires shall light the mountain's crest, The valley peal with drums. Twinkle, twinkle, pretty spindle; let the white wool drift and dwindle Oh! we weave a damask doublet for my love's coat of steel. Hark! the timid, turning treadle crooning soft old-fashioned ditties To the love slow murmur of the brown round wheel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DUSK IN WAR TIME by SARA TEASDALE BEN KARSHOOK'S WISDOM by ROBERT BROWNING BALLAD by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY UNWELCOME by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE |