I'VE never gone to Donaghadee, That vague far townlet by the sea; In Donaghadee I shall never be: Then why do I sing of Donaghadee, That I know not in a faint degree? . . -- Well, once a woman wrote to me With a tender pen from Donaghadee. "Susan," I've sung, "Pride of Kildare," Because I'd heard of a Susan there, The "Irish Washerwoman's" capers I've shared for hours to midnight tapers, And "Kitty O'Linch" has made me spin Till dust rose high, and day broke in: That other "Kitty, of Coleraine," Too, set me aching in heart and brain: While "Kathleen Mavourneen," of course, would ring When that girl learnt to make me sing. Then there was "Irish Molly O" I tuned as "the fairest one I know," And "Nancy Dawson," if I remember, Rhymed sweet in moonlight one September. But the damsel who once wrote so free And tender toned from Donaghadee, Is a woman who has no name for me -- Moving sylph-like, mysteriously, (For doubtless, of that sort is she) In the pathways of her destiny; But that is where I never shall be; -- And yet I sing of Donaghadee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW EZEKIEL by EMMA LAZARUS THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD by REBECCA S. REED NICHOLS THE CITY IN THE SEA by EDGAR ALLAN POE WILD PLUM BLOSSOMS by EVA K. ANGLESBURG I COME SINGING by JOSEPH AUSLANDER ONCE WITH DEATH NEAR by REBA MAXWELL AVERY |