Songs

As soon as the fire burns red and low,
And the house up-stairs is still,
She sings me a queer little sleepy song,
Of sheep that go over the hill.

The good little sheep run quick and soft,
Their colors are gray and white;
They follow their leader nose to tail,
For they must be home by night.

And one slips over and one comes next,
And one runs after behind,
The gray one's nose at the white one's tail,
The top of the hill they find.

And when they get to the top of the hill,
They quietly slip away;
But one runs over and one comes next --
Their colors are white and gray.

And over they go, and over they go,
And over the top of the hill,
The good little sheep run quick and soft,
And the house up-stairs is still.

And one slips over and one comes next,
The good little, gray little sheep!
I watch how the fire burns red and low,
And she says that I fall asleep.

I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass -- 
  O wind, a-blowing all day long,
  O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all -- 
  O wind, a-blowing all day long,
  O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
  O wind, a-blowing all day long,
  O wind, that sings so loud a song!

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;
It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by;
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,
And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be;
But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do,
O Leerie, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you!

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light,
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight.

Schlaf' schlaf' mein Kindlein
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Here's a pleasant sunny field
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Where are the snowdrops? said the sun
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Little beam of rosy light
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My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here:
My heart's in the Highlands, a chasing the deer;
[Chasing]1 the wild deer, and following the roe --
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
 
Farewell to the mountains high [cover’d]2 with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green [valleys]3 below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer;
[Chasing]1 the wild deer, and following the roe --
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
  Why do ye fall so fast?
  Your date is not so past
But you may stay [yet here]1 awhile
  To blush and gently smile,
      And go at last.

What! were ye born to be
  An hour or half's delight,
  And so to bid good night?
'Twas pity Nature brought [you]2 forth
  Merely to show your worth
      And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
  May read how soon things have
  Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride
  Like you awhile, they glide
      Into the grave.

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to [the]1 evensong,
And, having pray'd together, we	
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die,
As your hours [do,]2 and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And [this]1 same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

[The]2 glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
[But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former. ]3

Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That [hills and valleys, dale and field]1,
[And all the craggy mountains yield]2.

[There will we]3 sit upon the rocks
[And see]4 the shepherds feed their flocks,
[By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals]5.6

There will I make thee beds of roses
[And]7 a thousand fragrant posies,
[A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.]5

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
[With]8 buckles of the purest gold.

A [belt]9 of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

[The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:]5
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear, your true love's coming 
That can sing both high and low.

[Trip]1 no [further]2, pretty sweeting;
[Journeys]3 end in lovers' meeting,
Ev'ry wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:

[In]4 delay there lies no plenty;
Then [come kiss]5 me, sweet and twenty;
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Lo silken my garden
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Sure may be ye've heard the stormthrush
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'Where am I from?'
From the green hills of Erin,
'Have I no Song then?'
My songs are all sung.
'What of my love?'
'Tis alone I am farin'
Old grows my heart,
An' my voice yet is young.
'If she was tall?'
Like a king's own daughter.
'If she was fair?'
Like a mornin' o' May.
When she'd come laughin'
'Twas the runnin' wather
When she'd come blushin'
'Twas the break o' day.
'Where did she dwell?'
Where one'st I had my dwellin'.
'Who loved her best?'
There no one now will know.
'Where is she gone?'
Och why would I be tellin'
Where she is gone
There I can never go.

Winter is cold-hearted,
  Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
  Blown every way:
Summer days for me
  When every leaf is on its tree;

When Robin's not a beggar,
  And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
  Over the wheat-fields wide,
  And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
  Swings from side to side,

And blue-black beetles transact business,
  And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
  That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.

Before green apples blush,
  Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
  Is worth a month in town;
  Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
  That days drone elsewhere.

I'd mind the day I'd wish I was a saygull flyin' far,
	For then I'd fly an' find you in the West;
An I'd wish I was a little rose as sweet as roses are,
	For then you'd maybe wear it on your breast,
		Achray!
	You'd maybe take an' wear it on your breast.

I'd wish I could be livin' near, to love you day an' night,
	To let no throuble touch you or annoy;
I'd wish I could be dyin' here to rise a spirit light,
	If Them above 'ud let me bring you joy,
		Achray!
	If Them above 'ud let me win you joy.

An' now I wish no wishes, nor ever fall a tear,
	Nor take a thought beyont the way I'm led:
I mind the day that's over-by, an' bless the day that's here,
	There be to come a day when we'll be dead,
		Achray!
	A longer, lighter day when we'll be dead.

Why were you born when the snow was falling? 
You should have come to the cuckoo's calling 
Or when grapes are green in the cluster, 
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster 
  For their far off flying 
  From summer dying. 

Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? 
You should have died at the apples' dropping, 
When the grasshopper comes to trouble, 
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, 
  And all winds go sighing 
  For sweet things dying.

Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required;
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,
In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round.

Her cabined ample spirit,
It fluttered and failed for breath.
Tonight it doth inherit
The vasty hall of death.

A little work, a little play to keep us going
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If truths in hearts that perish
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Love, sweet love
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Father, mother, sister, brother
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Tulip flames
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Alas, how easily things go wrong!
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I who yesterday was young
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When youth's last hour has struck
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At morn the flowers' perfect grace
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A ladye sat aneath a tree
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O soft west wind!
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The night has a thousand eyes,
 And the day but one;
Yet the light of the [world]1 dies
 With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
 And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
 When love is done.

O blackbird, what a boy you are!
How you do go it!
Blowing your bugle to that one sweet star...
How you do blow it!
And does she hear you, blackbird boy, so far?
Or is it wasted breath?
"Good Lord ! she is so bright
To-night !"
The blackbird saith.

Growing, growing, growing!
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The year has put his cloak away
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