  Rose o' the world, she came to my bed And changed the dreams of my heart and head: For joy of mine she left grief of hers And garlanded me with a crown of furze. Rose o' the world, they go out and in, And watch me dream and my mother spin: And they pity the tears on my sleeping face While my soul's away in a fairy place. Rose o' the world, they have words galore, And wide's the swing of my mother's door: But soft they speak of my darkened eyes, But what do they know, who are all so wise? Rose o' the world, the pain you give Is worth all days that a man may live: Worth all shy prayers that the colleens say On the night that darkens the wedding day. When he might dream of your face instead? Might go to his grave with the blessed pain Of hungering after your face again? Rose o' the world, they may talk their fill, For dreams are good, and my life stands still While their lives' red ashes the gossips stir, But my fiddle knows: and I talk to her. Nora Hopper |
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