by Arthur Stringer
These , in faith, are Irish days,
Days av rain and days av haze;
Misty, moisty, spit and drool;
Iv'ry street-turn wid its pool;
Iv'ry hedge and thatch a-drip;
Wather, sure, to float a ship!
Not a boreen, not a brick,
Not a road, and not a rick,
Not a throat, and not a sty,
Ye'll find, this day, in Ireland dry!
—And all the hay-crop 's goin' bad,
But what can laugh like wather, lad?
Last updated January 14, 2019