She said, ‘How is the woman that owns ye?’
Och, never be tellin’ the life that he’s led!
Sure, many’s the night that he’ll wish himself dead,
For the sake of two eyes in a pretty girl’s head,—
An’ the tongue of the woman that owns him.
FRANCES CORNFORD
173. Autumn Evening
The shadows flickering, the daylight dying,
And I upon the old red sofa lying,
The great brown shadows leaping up the wall,