The Randyvoo

I

W E see thim thrailin' in and out wid niver wanst a shmile
At Fairy-Thorn or buddin' May that's scentin' many a mile;
I see thim streelin' in and out wid salt tears on their face,
For yon's the Acre av the Dead and thought a dourish place,
Wid gravestones thick as barley tops and yews forninst the wall,
Where leverocks soar and sing so mad, and matin' cuckoos call.

II

And dark it is, in faith, to thim who hold the place in dread,
And dour enough it still may be for thim who know their dead;
But, och, for me 'tis still the home av iv'ry singin' lark
And iv'ry note and hawthorn scent that steals across the dark;
For wanst, where black between the stones the yew tree shadows hung,
I found and knew me first love's kiss, when all the world was young.