Goldfinch (1)/Kathleen O'More

Kathleen O'More.

My love, I think that I see her once more,
But, alas! she has left me her loss to deplore,
My own little Kathleen, my poor last Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.

Her hair glossy black, her eyes were dark blue,
Her colour still changing, her smiles were ever new,
So pretty was Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.
She milk'd the dun cow, that ne’er offer’d to stir;
Though wicked it was, it was gentle to her,
So kind was my Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.

She sat at the door one cold afternoon,
So hear the wind blow and to look at the moon,
So pensive was Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.
Cold was the night-breeze that sigh'd round her bower;
⟨It⟩ ehill’d my poor Kathleen, she droop’d from that hour,
And I lost my poor Kathleen, my own little Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.

The bird of all birds that I love the best,
⟨Is⟩ the Robin that in the churchyard builds her nest,
⟨For⟩ she seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly on Kathleen,
My Kathleen, O.