  The moonlight is failin’— The sad stars are palin’— The black wings av night are a-dhroopin’ an’ trailin’; The wind’s miserere Sounds lonesome an’ dreary; The katydid’s dumb an’ the nightingale’s weary. Troth, Nora! I’m wadin’ The grass an’ paradin’ The dews at your dure, wid my swate serenadin’, Alone and forsaken, Whilst you’re never wakin’ To tell me you’re wid me an’ I am mistaken! Don’t think that my singin’ It’s wrong to be flingin’ Forninst av the dreams that the Angels are bringin’; For if your pure spirit Might waken and hear it, You’d never be draamin’ the Saints could come near it! Then lave off your slaapin’— The pulse av me’s laapin’ To have the two eyes av yez down on me paapin’. Och, Nora! It’s hopin’ Your windy ye’ll open |
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