LADY KATHLEEN.
Fair Lady Kathleen in her tower
Bowed her head like a wounded flower;
Wept she the weary night away;
‘Here I spin for a year and a day,
But ’tis for love’s sweet sake,’ she said,
‘My heart must break and I were dead.
The nettle I’ve pulled when the moon was bright
And brought it home in the dark of night —
I’ve trod it soft ’neath my naked feet
To make a cloak for thy rescue, Sweet!’
The Lady Kathleen wept full sore:
‘Oh, misery mine for a year and more!’
Day after day, and a promised spring
Bloomed into a summer of blossoming.
A thrush was carolling, mad with glee.
On the topmost bough of the elm-tree;
He sang to fair Kathleen in her tower,
But the maiden heeded nor bird nor flower.
