A Connaught Lament

Nora Hopper Chesson

1871 to 1906

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Track 1

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My heart in my bosom is black as a sloe!
But O were I dead, were I dust, the fall
Because of the words your lips have spoken,
My heart is broken within my breast.
My heart is a grave that is stripped and hollow,
O lips forgetful and kindness fickle,
And dig me a grave where the hill-winds call;
I am the poppy and you the sickle;
I will arise and go hence to the west,
The heart in my breast is, that beats so low.
Of my own love's footstep would break my rest!
As ice on the water my heart is broken.
The swallow goes south with you: I go west
(O dear black head that I must not follow)
I heed not cuckoo, nor wren, nor swallow:
Where fields are empty and scythes at rest.
Like a flying leaf in the sky's blue hollow