Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
O Drimin Dhu DeelishAlfred Perceval Graves
O D
As black as the night with one star on her brow,
For Drimin Dhu Deelish, the silk of the kine,
For Drimin Dhu Deelish I mourn and I pine.
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu tu slaun!
’Twas then like a deer down the mountain she flew;
And ah, when beneath her the stool I would place,
How oft on my shoulder she rubbed her soft face!
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu tu slaun!
And under my fingers froth up in the pail,
She ne’er kicked one keeler away o’er the green,
For no cow genteeler than Drimin was seen.
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu tu slaun!
Though bravely she battled to break her way through;
Till down, down she went, with a drizzen and drone,
Poor Drimin Dhu Deelish, and left us alone.
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu to slaun!
Our Drimin was evermore hearty and bold;
Straight back and firm body and honey-sweet breath,
Mild eyes and grave manners, how could you know death!
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu tu slaun!
No milk was as fine and no butter as good,
But oh, ’tis chill water and oh ’tis dry scone,
Since Drimin, since Drimin Dhu Deelish is gone!
As O ru Drimin Dhu, och oru agraw,
As O ru Drimin Dhu, go dhu tu slaun!