"FORGETTIN"

The night when last I saw my lad
His eyes were bright an' wet.
He took my two hands in his own,
"'Tis well," says he, "we're met.
Asthore machree! the likes o' me
I bid ye now forget."

Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing,
'Tis more I'd do for him!
I mind the night I promised well,
Away on Ballindim. -
An' every little while or so
I thry forgettin' Jim.

It shouldn't take that long to do,
An' him not very tall:
'Tis quare the way I'll hear his voice,
A boy that's out o' call, -
An' whiles I'll see him stand as plain
As e'er a six-fut wall.

Och, never fear, my jewel!
I'd forget ye now this minute,
If I only had a notion
O' the way I should begin it;
But first an' last it isn't known
The heap o' throuble's in it.

Meself began the night ye went
An' hasn't done it yet;
I'm nearly fit to give it up,
For where's the use to fret? -
An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me
Wid mindin' to forget.

Moira O'Neill

From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.

This poet: [Back] [Up]
[Author index]

[Back to previous page]

This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.

Citing poems from these pages: