A Broadside: No. 12 Fifth Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 12 Fifth Year
Subject
Ireland
Cuala Press
A Broadside
Irish Literary Revival
The Gaelic Revival
Description
PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY E. C. YEATS AT THE CUALA PRESS, CHURCHTOWN, DUNDRUM, COUNTY DUBLIN. SUBSCRIPTION TWELVE SHILLINGS A YEAR POST FREE.
300 copies only.
300 copies only.
The woodcut on page [3] has caption: "THE SHANACHIE". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
May, 1913
Text
All day long, in unrest,
To and fro, do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart .... in my bosom faints
To think of you, my Queen!
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
THE BABY HOUSE
My father built a baby house,
To keep me from the men;
My mother made a window to it,
To see them now and then.
But sight was not enough for me,
I long'd for one within;
So Art, one day, contrived a way
To let a lover in!
My father soon found out my tricks,
And hired, with wond'rous care,
A brace of old Duennas rude,
To watch me every where.
But Love then lent my lover wings,
An entrance fleet to win-
He ran all round the baby house,
And stole me from within.
O, were I in that baby house,
I'd make a vow sincere-
No serenading lover should
My casement wander near.
No pretty little winning song,
Through Love should breathe the strain,
Should lure me from that baby house,
Or tempt me out again?
To and fro, do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart .... in my bosom faints
To think of you, my Queen!
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
THE BABY HOUSE
My father built a baby house,
To keep me from the men;
My mother made a window to it,
To see them now and then.
But sight was not enough for me,
I long'd for one within;
So Art, one day, contrived a way
To let a lover in!
My father soon found out my tricks,
And hired, with wond'rous care,
A brace of old Duennas rude,
To watch me every where.
But Love then lent my lover wings,
An entrance fleet to win-
He ran all round the baby house,
And stole me from within.
O, were I in that baby house,
I'd make a vow sincere-
No serenading lover should
My casement wander near.
No pretty little winning song,
Through Love should breathe the strain,
Should lure me from that baby house,
Or tempt me out again?
Original Format
Broadside
Files
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats and Jack B. Yeats, “A Broadside: No. 12 Fifth Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed November 23, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1406.