Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Thomas DArcy McGee 182568The Irish Wife
McGee-ThI
For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France’s hand;
For she to me is dearer
Than castles strong, or lands, or life:
An outlaw—so I ’m near her
To love till death my Irish wife.
A ruin’d, hermit-haunted place,
But for the light that nightly shines
Upon its walls from Kathleen’s face!
What comfort in a mine of gold,
What pleasure in a royal life,
If the heart within lay dead and cold,
If I could not wed my Irish wife?
I knew my king abhorr’d her race;
Who never bent before their clans
Must bow before their ladies’ grace.
Take all my forfeited domain,
I cannot wage with kinsmen strife:
Take knightly gear and noble name,
And I will keep my Irish wife.
My heaven by day, my stars by night;
And twin-like truth and fondness lie
Within her swelling bosom white
My Irish wife has golden hair,
Apollo’s harp had once such strings,
Apollo’s self might pause to hear
Her bird-like carol when she sings.
For all the dames of the Saxon land;
I would not give my Irish wife
For the Queen of France’s hand;
For she to me is dearer
Than castles strong, or lands, or life:
In death I would be near her,
And rise beside my Irish wife.