THE DEAD WIFE
Thrice turned she in her narrow bed,
His tears disturbed her rest;
She kissed the little babe that lay
So still upon her breast.
“Dream well,” she said, “my daughter dear,
Since I must leave you lone;
Three times your father's piteous voice
Did make a grievous moan;
“Three times your father's bitter cry
Did wake me from my sleep,
So must I go and comfort him
And bid him not to weep.”
Her fingers chill she did unlace
From off her breast so white;
“Poor hands,” quoth she, “oft for his sake
You toiled a weary night”
She stepped out from her grave so green
Upon her feet so slim,
“Oft were you wounded on the road
Where you did follow him.”
Lone went she up the long boreen
Wherein her love did dwell.
And there she met a nut-brown maid
She once did love full well.
70
