She Is My Dear

She is my dear
Who makes me weep so many a tear,
  And whom I love far more for it
Than one who only brings good cheer.

She is my own,
Day in day out she hears me groan,
  And does not care if I am sad
And would not grieve if I were gone.

She is my delight
She whose dear eyes are ever bright,
  Whose hand will never prop my head,
Who will not turn to me at night.

She is my all
Who tells me nothing, great or small,
  And does not see me when I pass
And does not hear me when I call.


Source: O'Connor, Frank (tr); Kings, Lords, & Commons: An
Anthology from the Irish; 1962; London; Macmillan & Co; p.58