by Arthur Stringer
Oh , Muther, Muther, sure ye'll mind the madness av it all!
Ye'll mind I had no shmile for him, no eye for him at all!
Och, Muther, I was mad wid love for laughin' Kindree Tim;
I'd given up me sobbin' lips and all me heart to him!
And Shamus was a dour man;
And och, he seemed a sour man;
"And yon," says I, when first I sent him on his way again,
Wid all his sad and patient eyes so clouded up wid pain,
"Faith, yon's a cold man,
And yon's an old man,
And I'm for warrm and laughin' ways, and I'm for lovin' Tim!"
The way wid life and lovin' sure ye'll niver learn at school;
It seldom goes be raison, and it niver goes be rule!
'Twas half wid pity, Muther, half wid pique at struttin' Tim,
I let dour Shamus speak the word that bound me up wid him.
Widout a thrill av rapture and widout a throb av hope,
I took him for me wedded mate—him, solemn as a Pope,
Ay, him widout a chune or laugh, and wid his solemn way;
He took me from ye, Muther, and off across The Bay,—
And och the bitther tears
And the thought av empty years
And sobbin' that I'd rather die than face another day!
I've borne him childer', Muther, and I've been an honest wife;
We've had our thrials together, faith, our ups and downs wid life;
I've minded what ye tolt me, Muther, kept me throubles still,
And bent me way to Shamus's and made his wish me will—
But here's the wonder av it! Muther, Muther, tell me why
The mid-day love grows stronger when the mornin' love must die,
The solemn love grows dearer when the madder love goes by?
For here I'm waitin' like a gerrl to hear me Shamus call,
Ay, here I'm waitin' for the man who's now me all in all,
And when I see him throubled sure it cuts me like a knife—
And faith it's not a sad world,
And sure it's not a mad world,
For I love him, Muther, Muther, och, I love him more than life!
Last updated September 07, 2017