O MY Dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There 's wine from the royal Pope,
Upon the ocean green;
And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,
......
I
Ancestral Houses
SURELY among a rich man s flowering lawns,
Amid the rustle of his planted hills,
Life overflows without ambitious pains;
And rains down life until the basin spills,
And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains
As though to choose whatever shape it wills
And never stoop to a mechanical
Or servile shape, at others' beck and call.
......
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
......
I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.
I wish you were here, dear,
......
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
......
starling on water
in a reflection of moon
dreamy dawn maroon
otherworldly blooms
bestowed by summer just past
time's going too fast
dewdrops pink roses
scents as I come out the door
......
With open casements,
I can welcome the warm sun
And the starry sky.
Does her smile warm your dreams like it warms mine
A flicker in the night
At peace with pale moon light
The wishing stars whisper my name
They whisper only lies
I fear the tide
When the sun has ceased its shine
I must not fight, moonlight
Does his frown taunt your dreams like it taunts mine
......
It rises without asking,
pulling silence across the sky.
Not a word,
yet everything listens.
Even the shadows
stand still
to watch.
A silvery dream upon the night sky
Shining betwixt the tiny shimmers
Queen of the dark alam is she,
Beauty resting upon her in sanctity
That mere words can’t help but flatter
Brimming with epics at her flower beds
That the poets sing praises
But none versed enough
To match her luminous attire
......