She is my choice, O, she my choice, Who never made me to rejoice; Who caused my heart to ache so oft, Who put no softness in her voice. Great is my grief, O, great my grief, Neglected, scorned beyond belief, By her who looks at me askance, By her who grants me no relief. She's my desire, O, my desire, More glorious than the bright sun's fire; Who more than wind--blown ice more cold, Had I the boldness to sit by her. She it is who stole my heart, But left a void and aching smart, But if she soften not her eye, Then life and I shall surely part. _Douglas Hyde_ I SHALL NOT DIE FOR THEE _From the Irish_ For thee I shall not die, Woman high of fame and name; Foolish men thou mayest slay, I and they are not the same. Why should I expire For the fire of any eye, Slender waist, or swan-like limb, Is't for them that I should die? The round breasts, the fresh skin, Cheeks crimson, hair so long and rich; Indeed, indeed, I shall not die, Please God, not I, for any such. The golden hair, the forehead thin, The chaste mien, the gracious ease, The rounded heel, the languid tone, Fools alone find death from these. Thy sharp wit, thy perfect calm, Thy thin palm like foam of sea; Thy white neck, thy blue eye, I shall not die for thee. Woman, graceful as the swan, A wise man did nurture me, Little palm, white neck, bright eye, I shall not die for ye. _Douglas Hyde_ RIDDLES _From the Irish_ A great, great house it is, A golden candlestick it is, Guess it rightly, Let it not go by thee. _Heaven_. There's a garden that I ken, Full of little gentlemen, Little caps of blue they wear, And green ribbons very fair. _Flax_. He comes to ye amidst the brine The butterfly of the sun, The man of the coat so blue and fine, With red thread his shirt is done. _A Lobster_. You see it come in on the shoulders of men, Like a thread of the silk it will leave us again. _Turf_. _Douglas Hyde_ LOUGH BRAY A little lonely moorland lake, Its waters brown and cool and deep-- The cliff, the hills behind it make A picture for my heart to keep. For rock and heather, wave and strand, Wore tints I never saw them wear; The June sunshine was o'er the land, Before, 'twas never half so fair! The amber ripples sang all day, And singing spilled their crowns of white Upon the beach, in thin pale spray That streaked the sober sand with light.