Vein o' my heart, can you hear me crying,
Over the salt dividing sea?
Maybe you'll think 'tis the wind that's sighing —
But it comes from the heart o' me,
The heart o' me!

Oh, that happy day, and your face before me!
The blue loch lay like a silver sheet,
A blackbird swayed to its own sweet story,
And a thrush sang in the wheat.

Around us both was the radiant weather,
Over us both a blue, blue sky;
And the singing stream and the purpling heather,
Gave no thought of a sad good-bye.

Saw ye Neece O'Hagan,
By Moylena's Banks,
With his matchlock in his hand,
Foam on Rory's flanks?
Child dear! child dear!
'Twixt the night and day,
Neece will come with all his men
And carry you away.

If you do not shut your eyes
And sleep, mo paistin fionn ,
If you do not keep the sighs
Locked your lips within,
When your cradle-song I sing,

The kisses of Angus came to me —
And three bright birds on my apple-tree
Pipe their magical haunting song
That shall fill with dreaming my whole life long.

The first bird sings of my love's shut eyes,
The second her lips where silence lies,
The third her blushes for ever fled,
And the plenteous curls of her radiant head.

Night and day, asleep or awake,
I carry a heart nigh fit to break,
I carry a pain I shall not forget
Until above me the cairn is set.

For Angus the Druid sent them forth —

Fear , facing the new year,
Saith — " What shall it bring? "
And is dumb,
Dreading the hidden ways.

Faith , looking upward, saith,
" Good is in everything;
Let it come.
God ordereth the days. "

T HIS is our new year's bliss —
He is mine, and I am His,
All the ways, all the days
Lead us home.
Let us pray, let us praise.

Winter has chased away
Blue skies and songs of May.
She, too, is old now,
White-haired, with wrinkled brow;
But those eyes, dear eyes,
Are aglow with their light,
As when the day dies
Shine stars of the night.

Never alone,
A hand holds her own
Strong hand whose clasp
Thrills with its grasp;
And her heart is aflame
As love whispers her name.

Contented she waits
Till the great Temple gates
Are flung wide,
Then forth from the night
Steps the bride,
Forth into the light.
And then shall one say,

In the quiet City park,
Between the dawn and the dark,
Loud and clear,
That all may hear,
Sings the Lark.

Beyond the low black line
Of trees the dawn peeps red, —
Clouds blow woolly and fine
In the ether overhead,
Out of the air is shaken
A fresh and glistening dew,
And the City begins to awaken
And tremble thro' and thro';
See! (while thro' street and lane
The people pour again,
And lane and alley and street
Grow hoarse to a sound of feet,)
Here and there
A human Shape comes, dark
Against the cool white air,

Maria Vergine gravida a la posta
Trovo una lettra: A Mmaria bbenedetta.
«Chi ddiavolo me scrive?... Ah, e la risposta
De mi' cuggnata santa Lisabbetta.┬╗

Je raccontava lei c'a ffall'apposta
Je cressceva a llei puro la panzetta.
Allora lei, sibbe ch'er viaggia ccosta,
J'anno a ffa cor zu' bboccio una bburletta.

Disce che la trovo co ppoca panza,
Senz'appitito e ccolla sputarella,
In zur comincio della gravidanza.

San Giuseppe tratanto s'ariscarda:

I would play you the music of mourning!
And put you to grieving, oh dear love and fair,
Till you droop your young head of the shadowy hair,
And the round rainbow tears come a-trembling and fall,
For a sorrow of sorrows that broods over all —
For a cruel pain burning.

I would play you the music of laughter!
And set the smiles lighting your apple-bloom face,
In little glad ripples that gather apace
As if the lone hush of lake-waters were stirred
In a wind from the swift sweeping wing of a bird,
Who trails the breeze after.

Half of a gold-ring bright,
Broken in days of old,
One yellow curl, whose light
Gladden'd my gaze of old;
A sprig of thyme thereto,
Pluckt on the mountains blue,
When in the gloaming-dew
We roamed erratic;
Last, an old Book of Song, —
These have I treasured long,
Up in an Attic.

Held in one little hand,
They gleam in vain to me:
Of Love, Fame, Fatherland,
All that remain to me!

Still as the Sea serene and deep,
When all the winds are laid,
The City sleeps — so still, its sleep
Maketh the soul afraid.

Over the living waters, see!
The Seraphs shining go, —
The Moon is gliding hushfully
Through stars like flakes of snow.

In pearl-white silver here and there
The fallen moon-rays stream:
Hark! a dull stir is in the air,
Like the stir of one in dream.