MY very heart-strings, sure, will burst asunder -- Oh, woe is me! Damp is the sod that thou art sleeping under -- Astor machree. Narrow and dark the bed where thou art lying, All cold and lone; And the wild winds above thee, shrieking, sighing, Machree! Ochone! The frost is nipping thee, my tender blossom, In that cold place; Mavourneen, come and nestle in my bosom Thy poor chill face. Thine empty cradle stands beside the fire, In the cold cot; They would have moved it, but at my desire They touched it not. Then come! I'll clasp my arms so close around thee, And bear thee home; Thy father says he will not live without thee; Come, darling, come! I speak to thee, achora! Don't you hear me? My heart will break; Why art thou mute, my babe, and I so near thee? Alanna, speak? My gentle love-bird, thou art fled for ever; Thy song is o'er; Thy voice is hushed, and I shall hear thee never -- Oh, never more! The sunshine of my life has all departed; The day is gone; The night has come, and I am broken-hearted -- Ochone, ochone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE LAST WORD OF A BLUEBIRD; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST IN A BYE-CANAL by HERMAN MELVILLE L'EAU DORMANTE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE OLD FERRYMAN by ANTIPHILUS OF BYZANTIUM |