| Padraic Colum (1881–1972). Anthology of Irish Verse. 1922. |
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| 113. A Woman of the Mountain Keens Her Son |
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| By Padraic Pearse (Translated from the Irish) |
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| GRIEF on the death, it has blackened my heart: | |
| It has snatched my low and left me desolate, | |
| Without friend or companion under the roof of my house | |
| But this sorrow in the midst of me, and I keening. | |
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| As I walked the mountain in the evening | 5 |
| The birds spoke to me sorrowfully, | |
| The sweet snipe spoke and the voiceless curlew | |
| Relating to me that my darling was dead. | |
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| I called to you and your voice I heard not, | |
| I called again and I got no answer, | 10 |
| I kissed your mouth, and O God how cold it was! | |
| Ah, cold is your bed in the lonely churchyard. | |
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| O green-sodded grave in which my child is, | |
| Little narrow grave, since you are his bed, | |
| My blessing on you, and thousands of blessings | 15 |
| On the green sods that are over my treasure. | |
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| Grief on the death, it cannot be denied, | |
| It lays low, green and withered together,— | |
| And O gentle little son, what tortures me is | |
| That your fair body should be making clay! | 20 |
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