heykel atlar

Translucent as the currant on the branch,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

and led my steps from child to man;

Racketing uproarious.

Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,—

For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,

And swigged my horny barrel,

And yet I swear this oath—