by Arthur Stringer

Arthur Stringer

Why is it, now, me Nora
Will niver shpeak av Hugh?
Will niver pass a joke wid him
The way she used to do?

Toime was that gerrl'd blather
Av Hughie, noon and night!
Now iv'ry time he swings the gate
Her face goes starin' white!

I've spied no row nor ruction;
They meet as friend wid friend;
And still, I'm toldt, he walks with her
Beyondt the boreen's end.

I've done me best by Nora;
That gerrl's as thrue as day,
Wid all her big and wishtful eyes,
Wid all her bashful way!

But white before me turf-fire
She sits widout a word,
This gerrl av mine who used to sing
As mad as any bird!

Faith, since she lost her muther,
I've left that colleen free
To come and go — but times there are
When men are slow to see!

For wanst I spied her rockin'
And sobbin, here, alone —
Now, can there be some throuble up
Her muther might 've known?

Last updated January 14, 2019