Ay, yonder the thrushes is pipin' now, 'Way up the wee boreen; But maybe 'tis lonesome enough they'll look Waitin' on my Maureen! An' rosies is climbin' roun' hedges the day, An' peepin' down by, for to smell the new hay: Och but sure the wee child does be far away— Maureen—Maureen! An' down in the glen they're whistlin' a tune— The tune you loved, Maureen; But sad is yon grass that grows on a grave— Ay, grass so young an' green! Och circus wee ponies is jinglin' in town, An' swallows is wheelin' an' twitt'rin aroun', Ay, but sure av your voice for to hear wan soun', Maureen—Maureen! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: SERENADE by EDITH SITWELL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR A STREET MOTHER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: THE SOUL'S SCIENCE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 2. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |