Dora Sigerson Shorter

'What ails you that you look so pale, O fisher of the sea?' ''Tis for a mournful tale I own,

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves, A little bird outside my window swung, High on a topmost branch he trilled his song,

Who has room for a friend Who has money to spend, And a goblet of gold

A little dog disturbed my trust in Heaven. I praised most faithfully All the great things that be,

Here's a meadow full of sunshine Ripe grasses lush and high; There's a reaper on the roadway,

Behold! a new white world! The falling snow Has cloaked the last old year

O to be a woman! to be left to pique and pine, When the winds are out and calling to this vagrant heart of mine. Whisht! it whistles at the windows, and how can I be still?

Why love!    I thought you were gay and fair, Merry of mien and debonair. What then means this brow so black,

I cried all night to you, I called till day was here; Perhaps you could not come,

I saw an Eastern God to-day; My comrades laughed; lest I betray My secret thoughts, I mocked him too.

Let there be an end And all be done; Pass over, fair eclipse,

They crowded weeping from the teacher's house, Crying aloud their fear at what he taught, Old men and young men, wives and maids unwed,

This is my brave singer, With his beak of gold; Now my heart's a captive

For that old love I once adored I decked my halls and spread my board At Christmas time.

Banagher Rhue of Donegal, (Holy Mary, how slow the dawn!) This is the hour of your loss or gain:

I closed my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart, Instead of dusty, broken wings

Cean duv deelish, beside the sea I stand and stretch my hands to thee Across the world.

I come from a burial; Hush! let me be: I have put away my love,

Gormlaith, wife of Niall Glendu, Happy was your dream that night, Dreamt you woke in sudden fright,

I left my home for travelling; Because I heard the strange birds sing In foreign skies, and felt their wing

He heard it first upon the lips of love, And loved it for love's sake; A faithful word, that knows nor time nor change,

I am the song, that rests upon the cloud; I am the sun: I am the dawn, the day, the hiding shroud,

I prayed so eagerly, 'Turn and see How bitter I have striven-

Hush, 'tis thy voice! No, but a bird upon the bough Romancing to its mate, but where art thou

Deep in the moving depths Of yellow wine, I swore I'd drown your face,

Why in my neighbour's garden Are the flowers more sweet than mine? I had never such bloom of roses,

What is the secret of your life, browsing ox, Ox the sweet grass eating? Who strung the mighty sinews in your flesh?

Neighbour! for pity a hound cries on your steps With pleading eyes, with sore and weary feet. Neighbour! your pity a poor beast doth implore;

This is an evil night to go, my sister, To the fairy-tree across the fairy rath, Will you not wait till Hallow Eve is over?

Who knocks at the Geraldine's door to-night In the black storm and the rain? With the thunder crash and the shrieking wind

I struck you once, I do remember well. Hard on the track of passion sorrow sped, And swift repentance, weeping for the blow;

'There is one at the door, Wolfe O'Driscoll, At the door, who is bidding you come!' 'Who is he that wakes me in the darkness,

Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town In his garden strode up and down; He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;

The kine of my rather, they are straying from my keeping; The young goat's at mischief, but little can I do: For all through the night did I hear the Banshee keening;

I go through wet spring woods alone, Through sweet green woods with heart of stone, My weary foot upon the grass

She walks in a lonely garden On the path her feet have made, With high-heeled shoes, gold-buckled,

Thrice in the night the priest arose From broken sleep to kneel and pray. 'Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,

Who was stealing the Baron's wine, Golden sherry and port so old, Precious, I wot, as drops of gold?

A scallop shell, loosed by the lifting tide, Had left a friendly shore, the seas to brave; Its lips of pink and snowy hollow shone

Just this one day in all the year Let all be one, let all be dear; Wife, husband, child in fond embrace,

This is the story of Black Earl Roderick, the story and the song of his pride and of his humbling; of the bitterness of his heart, and of the love that came to it at last; of his threatened destruction, and the strange and wonderful way of his salvation. So shall I begin and tell. He left his gray castle at the dawn of the morning, and with many a knight to bear him company rode, not eager and swift, like a prince who went to find a treasure, but steady and slow, as we should go to meet sorrow. Not one of the hundred men who followed dared to lilt a lay or fling a laughing jest from his mouth. All rode silent among their gay trappings, for so saith a song:

This is the scene of a man's despair, and a soul's release From the difficult traits of the flesh; so, it seeking peace, A shot rang out in the night; death's doors were wide;

Love lit a beacon in thine eyes, And I out in the storm, And lo! the night had taken wings;

Whose is the voice that will not let me rest? I hear it speak. Where is the shore will gratify my quest,

Good-bye, sweet friend, good-bye, And all the world must be Between my friend and me;

What will you give me, if I will wed? 'A golden gown To come sweetly down,

When the dark comes, 'Is this the end?' I pray, No answer from the night,

How can I laugh or dance as others do, Or ply my rock or reel? My heart will still return to dreams of you

Wirastrua, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead! The corpse has spoken from out his bed, 'Yesternight my burning brain

I wish we could live as the flowers live, To breathe and to bloom in the summer and sun; To slumber and sway in the heart of the night,

In the heart of a rose Lies the heart of a maid; If you be not afraid

The green has come to the leafless tree, The earth brings forth its grain; The flower has come for the honey bee: