by Arthur Stringer
I HAD me bit av hay-land callin' for the scythe,
When who should hurry hillward, wishtfulloike and blithe,
But Cloidna av the Isle, that gerrl av pink an' white,
Wid eyes av Irish blue an' hair as black as night! …
I had me hay to mow an' gather into rick,
But when ye talk wid handsome gerrls, och, time goes quick!
"Aroo," says she to me, wid her slow an meltin' shmile,
"I'm lookin' for a man, this many an' many a mile!
"Me hay's all ripe," says she; "whativer will I do
Widout a bit av help?" … Bedad, her eye was blue!
Och, what's the use av moilin' till your life's all done!
An' what's a rick or two, beside a bit av fun!
I swung me singin' scythe thro' Cloidna's fields o' hay,
An' wid it swung me singin' heart each livelong day,
An' on me, iv'ry swath, she shmiled wid tender eyes …
Faith, when you're wid a handsome woman, how time flies!
Last updated September 07, 2017