I <br /> <br />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 /> <br /> II <br /> <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 /> III <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-mrs-mary-moore/
