English

In times of stormy weather
She felt queer pain
That said,
“You'll find rain better
Than shelter from the rain.”

Days filled with fiery sunshine
Strange hurt she knew
That made
Her seek the burning sunlight
Rather than the shade.

In months of snowy winter
When cozy houses hold,
She'd break down doors
To wander naked

Whiter than snow, her Infant lay
In Mary's arms that happy day;
Fairer than all the flowers that blow,
Brighter than all the stars that glow,
Sky blossoms in the milky way,

Thus I present him, when I pray,
As in the arms of faith, and say
‘Father, there was one Life below
Whiter than snow.’

That whiteness pleads my cause, I know,
And wins for me the grace to show
Some reflex rays while here I stray—
Pledge I shall wear the pure array
In which the heavenly armies go
Whiter than snow.

Like flaming comet on a darkened sky,
A God-sent ray
Streamed through the depths of forest gloom where I
Groped on Life's way.

I loved the warmth and kissed the golden glow,
I cried “Oh, stay!”
The sunbeam fled, and left me blackness, woe
And lifeless clay!

Before I set sail, I will not fail
To give that lad my blessing,
And if I had him here there's not much fear
But he'd get a good top dressing;
By the hat on my head but he'd lie on his bed
Till the end of next September,
I'd give him good cause to rub his jaws
And Skin the Goat remember.

But as I won't get the chance to make Carey dance,
I'll give him my benedictions,
So from my heart's core may he evermore
Know nothing but afflictions,
May every buck flea from here to Bray
Jump through the bed that he lies on,

Ill busi'd man! why should'st thou take such care
To lengthen out thy lifes short Kalendar?
When ev'ry spectacle thou lookst upon
Presents and acts thy execution.
Each drooping season and each flower doth cry,
Fool! as I fade and wither, thou must dy.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse;
There is but one, and that one ever.

I can HEY on water
Same as I can HEY-HEY on beer.
HEY on water
Same as I can HEY-HEY on beer.
But if you gimme good corn whisky
I can HEY-HEY-HEY—and cheer!

If you can whip de blues, boy,
Then whip 'em all night long.
Boy, if you can whip de blues,
Then whip 'em all night long.
Just play 'em, perfesser,
Till you don't know right from wrong.

While you play 'em,
I will sing 'em, too.
And while you play 'em,
I'll sing 'em, too.
I don't care how you play 'em
I'll keep right up with you.

The first created pair possessed a world
Where darkness was unknown;
Till Yama died, and left in endless light
Yami, his twin, alone.

The high Gods tried to comfort her distress,
But all in vain they tried.
She would not listen to their wisest words;
She said: ‘Today he died.’

Then were the Gods confounded, for her grief
Troubled their equal sight;
They said: ‘In this way she will not forget.
We must create the Night.’

So they created Night. And after Night
Came into being Morrow;

A BLOSSOM pink, a blossom blue,
Make all there is in love so true.
'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move,
To give it thee, sweet girl, I love!
Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear
A wreath of beauty in thy hair;
Think on it, when from bliss we part—
The emblem of my wooing heart!

Not with ware of worth unladen,
Sailed my bark in days of yore,
When, seafarer bound for Aidenn,
By the singing siren-maiden
Tempted, I forsook the shore.

Waning day departed, wailing
Wild with rush of wind and rain;
Stress of storm and surge prevailing
Scourged the skiff and marred the sailing;
So to port we sped amain.

Much I mused, misdoubting whether
More to fare on fickle sea;
Sunny blaze and sullen weather,
Breath of breeze and blast together,
Chain as charm had woven for me.

Vainly , ye libellers! your page
Assaults and vilifies old age,
'Tis still life's golden æra;
Its pleasures, wisely understood,
An unalloy'd unfailing good,
Its evils a chimæra—

Time's victim, I am victor still,—
Holding the privilege at will
To seize him by the forelock;
On me would he return the grasp,
He finds there's nothing left to clasp—
Not e'en a single hoar lock.—

We blame th' idolatrous divine
Who gilds and decorates his shrine,
The Deity neglected;
Yet our self-adoration blind