Reincarnations.
by James Stephens.
GEOFFREY KEATING
O woman full of wiliness!
Although for love of me you pine, Withhold your hand adventurous, It holdeth nothing holding mine.
Look on my head, how it is grey!
My body"s weakness doth appear; My blood is chill and thin; my day Is done, and there is nothing here.
Do not call me a foolish man, Nor lean your lovely cheek to mine O slender witch, our bodies can Not mingle now, nor any time.
So take your mouth from mine, your hand From mine, ah, take your lips away!
Lest heat to will should ripen, and All this be grave that had been gay.
It is this curl, a silken nest, And this grey eye bright as the dew, And this round, lovely, snow-white breast That draws desire in search of you.
I would do all for you, meseems, But this, tho" this were happiness!
I shall not mingle in your dreams, O woman full of wiliness!
MARY HYNES
She is the sky of the sun, She is the dart Of love, She is the love of my heart, She is a rune, She is above The women of the race of Eve As the sun is above the moon.
Lovely and airy the view from the hill That looks down Ballylea; But no good sight is good until By great good luck you see The Blossom of the Branches walking towards you Airily.
THE COOLUN
Come with me, under my coat, And we will drink our fill Of the milk of the white goat, Or wine if it be thy will; And we will talk until Talk is a trouble, too, Out on the side of the hill, And nothing is left to do, But an eye to look into an eye And a hand in a hand to slip, And a sigh to answer a sigh, And a lip to find out a lip: What if the night be black And the air on the mountain chill, Where the goat lies down in her track And all but the fern is still!
Stay with me, under my coat, And we will drink our fill Of the milk of the white goat Out on the side of the hill.
PEGGY MITCh.e.l.l
As lily grows up easily, In modest, gentle dignity To sweet perfection, So grew she, As easily.
Or as the rose that takes no care Will open out on sunny air Bloom after bloom, fair after fair, Sweet after sweet; Just so did she, As carelessly.
She is our torment without end, She is our enemy and friend, Our joy, our woe; And she will send Madness or glee To you and me, And endlessly.
NANCY WALSH
I, without bite or sup, If thou wert fated for me, I would up And would go after thee Through mountains.
A thousand thanks from me To G.o.d have gone, Because I have not lost my senses to thee, Though it was hardly I escaped from thee, O ringleted one!
THE RED MAN"S WIFE
Then she arose And walked in the valley In her fine clothes.
After great fire Great frost Comes following.
Turgesius was lost By the daughter of Maelsheachlin The King.
By Grainne, Of high Ben Gulbain in the north, Was Diarmuid lost.
The strong sons of Ushna, Who never submitted, They fell by Deirdre.
NANCY WALSH
It is not on her gown She fears to tread; It is her hair Which tumbles down And strays About her ways That she must care.
And she lives nigh this place: The dead would rise If they could see her face; The dead would rise Only to hear her sing: But death is blind, and gives not ear nor eye To anything.
We would leave behind Both wife and child, And house and home; And wander blind, And wander thus, And ever roam, If she would come to us In Erris.
Softly she said to me-- Be patient till the night comes, And I will go with thee.
ANTHONY O"DALY
Since your limbs were laid out The stars do not shine, The fish leap not out In the waves.
On our meadows the dew Does not fall in the morn, For O"Daly is dead: Not a flower can be born, Not a word can be said, Not a tree have a leaf; Anthony, after you There is nothing to do, There is nothing but grief.