There is a bright posy on the edge of the quay
And she far beyond Deirdre with her pleasant ways
Or if I would say Helen, the queen of the Greeks,
On whose account hundreds have fallen at Troy.
The flame and the white in her mingled together,
And sweeter her mouth than cuckoo on the bough,
And the way she has with her, where will you find them
Since died the pearl that was in Ballylaoi?
If you were to see the sky-maiden decked out
On a fine sunny day in the street, and she walking,
The light shining out from her snow-white bosom
Would give sight of the eyes to a sightless man.
The love of hundreds is on her brow,
The sight of her as the gleam of the Star of Doom;
If she had been there in the time of the gods
It is not to Venus the apple would have gone.
Her hair falling with her down to her knees,
Twining and curling to the mouth of her shoe;
Her parted locks, with the grey of the dew on them,
And her curls sweeping after her on the road;
She is the coolun is brightest and most mannerly
Of all who ever opened eye or who lived in life;
And if the country of Lord Lucan were given me,
By the strength of my cause, the jewel should be mine.
Her form slender, chalk-white, her cheeks like roses,
And her breasts rounded over against her heart;
Her neck and her brow and her auburn hair,
She stands before us like the dew of harvest.
Virgil, Cicero, nor the power of Homer,
Would not bring any to compare with her bloom and gentle ways;
O Blossom of Youth, I am guilty with desire of you,
And unless you come to me I shall not live a month.
Walking or dancing, if you were to see the fair shoot,
It is to the Flower of the Branches you would give your love,
Her face alight, and her heart without sorrow,
And were it not pleasant to be in her company?
The greatness of Samson or Alexander
I would not covet, surely, in place of my desire;
And if I do not get leave to talk to Mary Staunton
I am in doubt that short will be my life.
She bade me "Good-morrow" early, with kindness,
She set a stool for me, and not in the corner,
She drank a drink with me, she was the heart of hospitality,
At the time that I rose up to go on my way.
I fell to talking and discoursing with her,
It was mannerly she looked at me, the apple-blossom,
And here is my word of mouth to you, without falsehood,
That I have left the branch with her from Mary Brown.