An Irish Love Song.
JOHN TODHUNTER
O, you plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes,
Girl of my choice, Maureen!
Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy sweet mouth denies,
Maureen!
Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo,
White rose of the West, Maureen;
For it’s pale you are, and the fear that’s on you is over me too,
Maureen!
Sure it’s our complaint that’s on us, asthore, this day,
Bride of my dreams, Maureen;
The smart of the bee that stung us, his honey must cure, they say,
Maureen!
I’ll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face,
Mavourneen, my own Maureen,
When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arms’ embrace,
Maureen!
O where was the King o’ the World that day—only me,
My one true love, Maureen,
And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree,
Maureen!