When I was ill in the long ago That lately seems so nigh, They placed a mirror before me so I could see the passersby; Market women and trading men, Children and ballad singers, Farmers coming to town and then The noisy auction ringers With their "Hark, ye! Hark, ye! At twelve o' the clock in Ballinaree -- Twenty acres of turbary land To be sold at the fall of the hand." Again I'm buried deep in bed, But in this looking glass I see the folk who passed instead Of those who now may pass; Market women and trading men, Children and auction ringers, Farmers coming to town and then The welcome ballad singers With their "Hark, ye! Hark, ye! The Blushing Rose of Ballinaree -- Twenty verses of a ballad made For the best of the Dublin trade." Maybe a moon in another sky Shall be as a mirror so It might reflect the world which I Would still desire to know; Market women and trading men, Children and ballad singers, Farmers coming to town and then The rambling notice ringers With their "Hark, ye! Hark, ye! At twelve o' the clock in Ballinaree -- A ploughing match with a guinea's prize For the skill of your hands and eyes." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COW IN APPLE TIME by ROBERT FROST THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL, FR. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT CASABIANCA by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE AN APRIL MORNING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH GRANDMOTHER'S TEACHING by ALFRED AUSTIN THE FUNERAL OF A VILLAGE GIRL by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX |