HALF seated on a mossy crag, Half crouching in the heather; I found a little Irish maid, All in June's golden weather. Like some fond hand that loved the child, The wind tossed back her tresses; The heath-bells touched her unclad feet With shy and soft caresses. A mountain linnet flung his song Into the air around her; But all in vain the splendid hour, For deep in woe I found her. "Ahone! Ahone! Ahone!" she wept, The tears fell fast and faster; I sat myself beside her there, To hear of her disaster. Like dew on roses down her cheek The diamond drops were stealing; She laid her two brown hands in mine, Her trouble all revealing. Alas! Alas! the tale she told In Gaelic low and tender; A plague upon my Saxon tongue, I could not comprehend her. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT APRIL by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE BROWNING AT ASOLO by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON YARROW REVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH HUMAN FLIES by KATHARINE ADAMS A MISUNDERSTANDING (CONNEMARA) by JANE BARLOW SONG OF SOLOMON: AWAKE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE FLYING WORDS by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP |