Samuel Lover

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  • Deprecated function: number_format(): Passing null to parameter #1 ($num) of type float is deprecated in number_field_formatter_view() (line 305 of /home/poemlake/public_html/modules/field/modules/number/number.module).
  • Our Father Land! and wouldst thou know
      Why we should call it Father Land?
    It is that Adam here below
      Was made of earth by Nature’s hand;
    And he our father, made of earth,
      Hath peopled earth on every hand;
    And we, in memory of his birth,...

  • Oh, I ’m not myself at all,
        Molly dear, Molly dear!
    I ’m not myself at all.
      Nothing caring, nothing knowing,
      ’T is after you I ’m going,
      Faith, your shadow ’t is I ’m growing,
        Molly dear, Molly dear!
    And I ’m not myself at all...

  • Widow Machree, it ’s no wonder you frown,—
              Och hone! Widow Machree;
    Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,—
              Och hone! Widow Machree;
            How altered your air,
            With that close cap you wear,—
            ’...

  •   ’VOURNEEN, when your days were bright,
    Never an eye did I dare to lift to you,
    But now, in your fortune’s blight,
    False ones are flying in sunshine that knew you;
      But still on one welcome true rely,
      Tho’ the crops may fail, and the cow go dry,...

  • “oh, ’t is time I should talk to your mother,
            Sweet Mary,” says I.
    “Oh, don’t talk to my mother,” says Mary,
            Beginning to cry:
    “For my mother says men are deceivers,
        And never, I know, will consent;
    She says girls in a hurry who...

  • Or, All for Good Luck
    YOUNG Rory O’More courted Kathleen bawn,—
    He was bold as a hawk, she as soft as the dawn;
    He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
    And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
    “Now, Rory, be aisy!” sweet Kathleen would...

  • When first I saw sweet Peggy,
      ’T was on a market day:
    A low-backed car she drove, and sat
      Upon a truss of hay;
    And when that hay was blooming grass
      And decked with flowers of spring
    No flower was there that could compare
      With the...

  •    [In Ireland they have a pretty fancy that when a child smiles in its sleep it is “talking with angels.”]

            A BABY was sleeping;
            Its mother was weeping;
    For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
            And the tempest was swelling...