Yon pink wee rosie in my hair— Ay, there's rosies sure in Derry, Through the heart av London town! But if I had the liftin' Or the buyin' av a few, I'd choose jist pink wee rosies That's all drenchin' wid the dewYon pink wee rosies wid the tears! Och wet, wet tears!-ay, troth, 'tis years Since we kep' rakin' in the hay Thon day-thon day! Agnes I. Hanrahan [18 AT THE COMEDY LAST night, in snowy gown and glove, (And, oh, were life their little scene For you, who saw them gayly win Both hand and heart away, Knew well where dwelt the mockery in That foolish little play. ("If love were all-if love were all," The viols sobbed and cried, "Then love were best whate'er befall!” Low, low, the flutes replied.) "I Heard a Soldier" And you, last night, did you forget, For watching there your eyes were wet (And down the great dark curtain fell But you and I knew-Oh, too well!— Arthur Stringer [1874 'SOMETIME IT MAY BE" SOMETIME it may be you and I But let our graves be side by side, So passers-by at even-tide May pause a moment's space: “Ah, they were lovers who lie here! Else why these low graves laid so near, In this forgotten place?" Arthur Colton [1868 "I HEARD A SOLDIER" I HEARD a soldier sing some trifle "If after death, love, comes a waking, 907 "To me the slow and silver pealing That then the last high trumpet pours What grief of love had he to stifle, Out in the veldt, alone? Herbert Trench [1865 THE LAST MEMORY WHEN I am old, and think of the old days, Of the eternal mystery, and love Like a dim pain; and I shall bend above My little fire, and shiver, being cold, When you are no more young, and I am old. Arthur Symons [1865 "DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS" Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; "Down by the Salley Gardens 909 She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, THE PARTED LOVERS SONG From "Twelfth Night " O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? What is love? 'tis not hereafter; William Shakespeare [1564-1615] "GO, LOVELY ROSE" Go, lovely Rose— Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, In deserts, where no men abide, Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. |