  Seventeenth century. If thou wilt come with me to the County of Leitrim, Flower of Nut-brown Maids— Honey of bees and mead to the beaker's brim I'll offer thee, Nut-brown Maid. Where the pure air floats o'er the swinging boats of the strand, Under the white-topped wave that laves the edge of the sand, There without fear we will wander together, hand clasped in hand, Flower of Nut-brown Maids. My heart never gave you liking or love, Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids; Though sweet are your words, there's black famine above, Said the Flower of Nut-brown Maids; Will gentle words feed me when need and grim hunger come by? Better be free than with thee to the woodlands to fly; What gain to us both if together we famish and die? Wept the Flower of Nut-brown Maids. I saw her coming towards me o'er the face of the mountain Like a star glimmering through the mist; In the field of furze where the slow cows were browsing In pledge of our love we kissed; In the bend of the hedge where the tall trees play with the sun, I wrote her the lines that should bind us for ever in one; Had you a right to deny me the dues I had won, O Flower of Nut-brown Maids? My grief and my torment that thou art not here with me now, Flower of Nut-brown Maids! Alone, all alone, it matters not where or how, O Flower of Nut-brown Maids; On a slender bed, O little black head, strained close to thee, Or a heap of hay, until break of day, it were one to me, Laughing in gladness and glee together, with none to see, My Flower of Nut-brown Maids. |
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