Douglas Hyde (1860–1949)

A HONEY mist on a day of frost in a dark oak wood,

And love for thee in my heart in me, thou bright white and good;

Thy slender form, soft and warm, thy red lips apart,

Thou hast found me, and hast bound me, and put grief in my heart.

In fair-green and market men mark thee, bright, young and merry,

Tho’ thou hurt them like foes with the rose of thy blush of the berry:

Her cheeks are a poppy, her eye it is Cupid’s helper,

But each foolish man dreams that its beams for himself are.

Whoe’er saw the Cooleen in a cool dewy meadow

On a morning in summer in sunshine and shadow;

All the young men go wild for her, my childeen, my treasure,

But now let them go mope, they’ve no hope to possess her.

Let us roam, O my darling, afar thro’ the mountains,

Drink milk of the goat, wine and bulcaun in fountains;

With music and play every day from my lyre,

And leave to come rest on my breast when you tire.