TRIOLETS.
In the days of my youth
I wooed woman with sonnets.
My ideas were uncouth
In the days of my youth.
Now I know that her ruth
Is best reached by new bonnets;
In the days of my youth
I wooed woman with sonnets.
Here's a flower for your grave,
Little love of last year;
Since I once was your slave,
Here's a flower for your grave;
Since I once used to rave
In the praise of my dear,
Here's a flower for your grave,
Little love of last year.
Lo, my heart, so sound asleep,
Lady! will you wake it?
For lost love I used to weep,
Now my heart is sound asleep,
If it once were yours to keep,
I fear you'd break it.
Lo! my heart, so sound asleep,
Lady, will you wake it?
Justin Huntly McCarthy.