  Douglas Hyde. O nce I was happy, And joyous with that, Now I am sorrowful Weary and sick. Thinking on the colleen By night and by day, Hurt by the colleen, Wounded with love. The sight of her eyes, The sweetness of her voice, It is these that have stricken me And left me without guidance. A colleen like she is Is not in this life, And she herself has left Myself without sense. Is not in this world; Vein of my own heart Whom I have chosen. Little hand of my love— It is whiter than snow; She hath left us with wounds And with wandering of the mind. Three long months Almost, am I lying; I am pierced with her arrows And my heart in torment. O God of Graces, Listen to my prayer, Give death to me Or give me her. Look on my lamentations, Look on my tears; Were not my thoughts on thee, Storeen, All these years? Look on my lamentations, Listen to me, Aroon, I am as a sheep, A sheep without its lamb! Wilt thou be hard, Colleen, as thou art tender? Wilt thou be without pity On us for ever? Listen, Aroon; Put some word of healing From thy quiet mouth. I am in the pathway That is dark and narrow, The little path that has guided Thousands to slumber. |
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