Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love. 1904. | | | | IV. Wooing and Winning | | Widow Machree | | Samuel Lover (1797–1868) |
| | | WIDOW MACHREE, it ’s no wonder you frown,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree; | |
| Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree; | |
| How altered your air, | 5 |
| With that close cap you wear,— | |
| ’T is destroying your hair, | |
| That should be flowing free: | |
| Be no longer a churl | |
| Of its black silken curl,— | 10 |
| Och hone! Widow Machree. | |
| |
| Widow Machree, now the summer is come,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree; | |
| When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum? | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | 15 |
| See, the birds go in pairs, | |
| And the rabbits and hares; | |
| Why, even the bears | |
| Now in couples agree; | |
| And the mute little fish, | 20 |
| Though they can’t spake, they wish,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | |
| |
| Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree,— | |
| To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, | 25 |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | |
| Sure the shovel and tongs | |
| To each other belongs, | |
| And the kettle sings songs | |
| Full of family glee; | 30 |
| While alone with your cup | |
| Like a hermit you sup, | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | |
| |
| And how do you know, with the comforts I ’ve towld,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | 35 |
| But you ’re keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld? | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | |
| With such sins on your head, | |
| Sure your peace would be fled; | |
| Could you sleep in your bed | 40 |
| Without thinking to see | |
| Some ghost or some sprite, | |
| That would wake you at night, | |
| Crying “Och hone! Widow Machree!” | |
| |
| Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,— | 45 |
| Och hone! Widow Machree!— | |
| And with my advice, faith, I wish you ’d take me, | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | |
| You ’d have me to desire | |
| Then to stir up the fire; | 50 |
| And sure Hope is no liar | |
| In whispering to me | |
| That the ghosts would depart | |
| When you ’d me near your heart,— | |
| Och hone! Widow Machree! | 55 | | | |
|
|
