"Denny's Daughter"
di Moira O'Neill (fl. 1900) [pseudonym]

Denny's daughter stood a minute in the field I be to pass,
All as quiet as her shadow lyin' by her on the grass;
In her hand a switch o' hazel from the nut tree's crooked root,
Well I mind the crown o' clover crumpled under one bare foot.
For the look of her,
The look of her,
Comes back on me today,
Wi' the eyes of her,
The eyes of her
That took me on the way.
Though I seen poor Denny's daughter white an' stiff upon her bed,
Yet I be to think there's sunlight fallin' somewhere on her head;
She'll be singin' Ave Mary where the flowers never wilt,
She, the girl my own hands covered wi' the narrow daisy-quilt.
For the love of her,
The love of her
That would not be my wife;
An' the loss of her,
The loss of her
Has left me lone for life.