Róisín Dubh
Everyone knows that a rose will fade,
(Sure I knew, too!)
So why would I be a whit dismayed
When you died, Róisín Dubh?
For a day and a night and a morrow
The bloom of you —
Then death: and what use of sorrow
For a rose, Róisín Dubh?
Yet, little black rose, so dear you were,
So sweet you grew,
And your stem is sad now you are not there,
And your leaves, Róisín Dubh!
O little black rose, my soul I'd give,
(My body, too!)
For a day, for an hour, that you might live
On your bush, Róisín Dubh!
Sweet, sweet, till the world was glad for you,
And kinder, too —
Now your bush and your world are sad for you,
Róisín Dubh!