Padraic Colum (1881–1972). Anthology of Irish Verse. 1922.
By Moira ONeill93. Corrymeela
O
And I wisht I was in Ireland the livelong day;
Weary on the English hay, an’ sorra take the wheat!
Och! Corrymeela, an’ the blue sky over it.
This livin’ air is moithered wi’ the hummin’ o’ the bees;
I wisht I’d hear the Claddagh burn go runnin’ through the heat,
Past Corrymeela, wi’ the blue sky over it.
There’s not the smallest young gossoon but thravels in his shoes!
I’d give the pipe between me teeth to see a barefut child,
Och! Corrymeela, an’ the low south wind.
By the luck o’ love! I’d still go light for all I did go bare.
“God save ye, colleen dhas,” I said; the girl she thought me wild!
Fair Corrymeela, an’ the low south wind.
The girls are heavy goin’ here, the boys are ill to plase;
When ones’t I’m out this workin’ hive, ’tis I’ll be back again—
Aye, Corrymeela, in the same soft rain.
For a shaugh wid Andy Feelan here I’d give a silver crown,
For a curl o’ hair like Mollie’s ye’ll ask the like in vain,
Sweet Corrymeela, an’ the same soft rain.