Poor Paddy of all Christian men I think
On basest food pours down the vilest drink. |
Robin's here in coat of brown,
And scarlet breast-knot gay. |
Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead. |
She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away. |
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a hunting For fear of little men |
Winds and waters keep
A hush more dead than any sleep. |
Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly each day. |