LUK at 'ere, ould baby, -- who Shak's the fist av 'im at you? Who's the spalpeen wid the stim Av his poipe a pokin' 'im? Who's the divil grinnin' 'ere In the eyes av yez, me dear? Arrah! darlint, spake and soy Don't yez know yer feyther -- boy? Wheer's the gab yer mither had Whin she blarneyed yer ould dad Wid her tricks and 'ily words Loike the liltin' av the birds? Wheer's the tongue av Michael Flynn, And the capers av the chin He's a-waggin' at yez? -- Hoy? Don't yez know yer feyther -- boy? Arrah! baby, wid the eyes Av the saints in Paradise, And Saint Patrick's own bald pate, Is it yer too howly swate To be changin' words because It's the hod, and not the cross, Ornamints me showlder? -- soy? Don't yez know yer feyther -- boy? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HALF-WAKING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP by ROBERT BROWNING FIRST BOOK OF AIRS: 20. A HAPPY MARRIAGE by THOMAS CAMPION THE FOUNTAIN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE BLIND LEGION by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 8, SELECTION by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE PHILOSOPHER by BERTON BRALEY |