domingo, 24 de outubro de 2010

Ulster III

"When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears
From out the wild woods ringing.
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In live's young spring so early.
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley.
But blood for blood without remorse
I've ta'en at oulart hollow.
I've lain my true love's clay like corpse
Where I full soon must follow.
Around her grave I've wandered drear
Noon, night, and morning early.
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley."

The wind that shakes the barley, Robert Dwyer Joyce

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