Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Black 47
Mo chreach ghéarchúiseach
Ná rabhas ar do chúlaibh
Nuair lámhadh an púdar
Go ngeobhainn é im chom dheas
Nó i mbinn mo ghúna
Is go léigfinn cead siúil leat
A mharcaigh na súl nglas
Ós tú b'fhearr léigean chucu
(English translation)
My biting bitter loss
I was not at your back
When the powder was fired
So my fine waist could save you
Or the hem of my dress
'til I let you go free
My slate-eyed writer
Well-able for them all