NOT fingers that e'er felt <br />Fine things within their hold <br />Drew needles in and through, <br />And smoothed out the fold, <br />And put the hodden patch <br />Upon the patch of grey <br />Unseemly is the garb <br />That's for my back to-day! <br /> <br />O skinflint woman, Mor, <br />Who knows that I speak true <br />I had women once, <br />A queen's retinue; <br />And they were ones who knew <br />The raiment of a queen; <br />Their thoughts were on my tire, <br />Their minds were on my mien! <br /> <br />Light of hand and apt, <br />And companionable, <br />Seven score women, Mor, <br />I had at my call, <br />Who am to-day begrudged <br />The blink of candle-light <br />To put it on, the garb, <br />That leaves me misbedight. <br /> <br />I wore a blue Norse hood <br />The time I watched the turns <br />And feats of Clann O'Neill <br />We quaffed from goblet-horns; <br />A crimson cloak I wore <br />When, with Niall the King, <br />I watched the horses race <br />At Limerick in the Spring! <br /> <br />In Tara of King Niall <br />The gold was round the wine, <br />And I was given the cup <br />A furze-bright dress was mine; <br />And now this clout to wear <br />Where I rise to sup whey, <br />With root-like stitches through <br />The hodden on the grey! <br /> <br />No more upon the board <br />Candles for kings are lit, <br />No more can I bid her <br />And her bring gowning fit; <br />The bramble is no friend <br />It pulls at me and drags; <br />The thorny ground is mine <br />Where briars tear my rags!<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/queen-gormlai/
