He wrought in the field through the length av the day, A tossin', an' lappin', an' ruckin' his hay; Wid never a care but a meadow to mow,— Or maybe wee crops in the Spring for to sow; Ay, but Molly Carew Wid a ribbon av blue Come a slippin' down by on a ledge! A strokin' wee heifers he strolled to the lane, Jist whistlin', an' liltin', nor seein' soft rain; An' never a thought but the trip av her feet— Or the twist av thorn-fence where maybe they'd meet!— But sure Molly Carew, Wid wee Martin McHugh Come a whisperin' roun' by the hedge! Ay, down in his field, an' hedges ablow— Wee trailin' white trains an' they glintin' like snow— He'd sorra a thought but the bride he'd have wed! Thon wisp av blue silk—or the words he'd have said!— Och but Mrs. HcHugh,— Troth she never jist knew!— An' him trimmin' the twist av a hedge! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DONKEY by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON FROST AT MIDNIGHT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE UPON THE DEATH OF MY EVER CONSTANT FRIEND DOCTOR DONNE, DEAN OF PAUL'S by HENRY KING (1592-1669) SONG OF THE BROAD-AXE by WALT WHITMAN EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS HUGH STUART BOYD: HIS DEATH, 1848 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |