Love's Last Appeal

O darling and true love,
In early summer, if you come with me

'Mid dim glens of dew, love,
Or where the bright sun shineth free —

Calves, kine, sheep the whitest
For your fortune I'd not take that day,

But my hand beneath your white waist
And sweet lonely converse with you for aye!

My garden is wasted,
Dear love, have you no regret?

Fruits fall now untasted,
The grass and the boughs have met.

I list not the clearest
Soft harp, nor the birds' sweet low wail,

Since from me fled my dearest
Curled Cooliun to Caislean O'Neill.

I'll leave not life's battle
Till conquered be fortune's fell harms,

Till I've won sheep and cattle,
And my darling again in my arms:

The spare meals of Lent-time
I'll quit not on high days of feast —

Sweet, swift were the spent-time
I'd spend with my head on his breast.

Farewell last even!
Ah, would it were back now to me,

With the fair youth of Heaven
Who caressed me awhile on his knee!

I'll say what bereft me
Of joy — but let no one know, —

My own white love has left me
O Mary, O God! what a woe!

Sickness and Sorrow
Are too much around my heart, —

The wan tears each morrow
To my eyes ever and ever start,

For love and love only
Of him who has left me nigh dead —

I cannot live lonely
If the dark mountain maid he should wed.

The people say ever
That many a man loves me dear,

But never — O never
Could I love whilst he is not here:

I'd wander far rather
Nine days, nine nights, nine weeks and ten,

And sloe-berries gather
Near my Love's house, to see him again!

You promised me purely
You'd love me while green grasses grew,

You promised me, surely,
One Home between me, Love, and you.

My woe on that even
When I gave you my heart that was free,

O black, O bitter grieving —
The World's between you, Love, and me!