A BLOODY and a sudden end, <br />Gunshot or a noose, <br />For Death who takes what man would keep, <br />Leaves what man would lose. <br />He might have had my sister, <br />My cousins by the score, <br />But nothing satisfied the fool <br />But my dear Mary Moore, <br />None other knows what pleasures man <br />At table or in bed. <br />What shall I do for pretty girls <br />Now my old bawd is dead? <br />Though stiff to strike a bargain, <br />Like an old Jew man, <br />Her bargain struck we laughed and talked <br />And emptied many a can; <br />And O! but she had stories, <br />Though not for the priest's ear, <br />To keep the soul of man alive, <br />Banish age and care, <br />And being old she put a skin <br />On everything she said. <br />What shall I do for pretty girls <br />Now my old bawd is dead? <br /> <br />The priests have got a book that says <br />But for Adam's sin <br />Eden's Garden would be there <br />And I there within. <br />No expectation fails there, <br />No pleasing habit ends, <br />No man grows old, no girl grows cold <br />But friends walk by friends. <br />Who quarrels over halfpennies <br />That plucks the trees for bread? <br />What shall I do for pretty girls <br />Now my old bawd is dead?<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-kinsella-s-lament-for-mr-mary-moore/
