Brigid

(AFTER THE IRISH)     Do not marry, Breed, asthore!     That old man whose head is hoar     As the winter, but instead     Mate with some young curly-head;     He will give to you a child,     He will never leave your side,     And at morning when you wake     Kiss for kiss will give and take.     I wish that I had died, I do,     Before I gave my love to you;     Love so lasting that it will     While I live be with you still:     And for it what do I get?     Pain and trouble and regret,     The terrors of the aspen-tree     Which the wind shakes fearfully.     If this country could be seen     As it ought - then you had been     Living in a castle grand     With the ladies of the land:     The friend and foe, the gael and gall,     Would be cheering, one and all,     For yourself, and, this is true,     I would be along with you.     You promised, 'twas a lie, I see,     When you said you'd come to me     At the sheep-cote; I was there,     And I whistled on the air,     And I gave our settled call -     But you were not there at all!     There was nothing anywhere     But lambs and birds and sunny air     When it is dark you pass me by,     And when the sun is in the sky     You pass me also - night or day     You look away, you walk away!     But if you would come to me,     And say the word of courtesy,     I would close the door, and then     I'd never let you out again.     But do not marry, Breed, asthore!     That old man; his heart is hoar     As his head is: you can see     Winter gripping at his knee:     His eyes and ears are blear and dim,     How can you expect of him     To see or hear or pleasure you     Half as well as I would do?