To the Lady with a Book

Pleasant journey, little book
  To that gay gold foolish head!
Though I wish that you remained
  And I travelled in your stead.

Gentle book, ’tis well for you, '
  Hastening where my darling rests;
You will see the crimson lips,
  You will touch the throbbing breasts.

You will see the dear grey eye.
  On you will that hand alight——
Ah, my grief ’tis you not I
  Will rest beside her warm at night.

You will see the slender brows
  And the white nape’s candle-gleam,
And the fond flickering cheeks of youth
  That I saw last night in dream.

And the waist my arms would clasp
  And the long legs and stately feet
That pace between my sleep and me
  With their magic you will meet.

And the soft pensive sleepy voice
  Whose echoes murmur in my brain
Will bring you rest—’tis well for you!
  When shall I hear that voice again?



Source: O'Connor, Frank (tr); Kings, Lords, & Commons: An Anthology
from the Irish; 1962; London; Macmillan & Co; p.71