Douglas Hyde
I am watching my young calves sucking;Who are you that would put me out of my luck?Can I not be walking, can I not be walking,Can I not be walking on my own farm-lands?
I will not for ever go back before you,If I must needs be submissive to thee, great is my grief;If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking,If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands.
Little heed I pay, and 'tis little my desire,Thy fine blue cloak and thy bright bird's plumes,If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking,If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands!
There is a day coming, it is plain to my eyes,When there will not be amongst us the mean likes of you;But each will be walking, each will be walking,Wherever he will on his own farm-lands.
Once I was happy,And joyous with that,Now I am sorrowfulWeary and sick.
Thinking on the colleenBy night and by day,Hurt by the colleen,Wounded with love.
The sight of her eyes,The sweetness of her voice,It is these that have stricken meAnd left me without guidance.
A colleen like she isIs not in this life,And she herself has leftMyself without sense.
A colleen like she isIs not in this world;Vein of my own heartWhom I have chosen.
Little hand of my love--It is whiter than snow;She hath left us with woundsAnd with wandering of the mind.
Three long monthsAlmost, am I lying;I am pierced with her arrowsAnd my heart in torment.
O God of Graces,Listen to my prayer,Give death to meOr give me her.
Look on my lamentations,Look on my tears;Were not my thoughts on thee, Storeen,All these years?
Look on my lamentations,Listen to me, Aroon,I am as a sheep,A sheep without its lamb!
Wilt thou be hard,Colleen, as thou art tender?Wilt thou be without pityOn us for ever?
Listen to me, Noireen,Listen, Aroon;Put some word of healingFrom thy quiet mouth.
I am in the pathwayThat is dark and narrow,The little path that has guidedThousands to slumber.
Oh, if there were in this wide worldOne little place at all,To be my own, my own alone,My own over all;Great were the joy, the comfort great,And me so lone,With no place in the world to say"This is my own."
Sad it is to be knowing this,For any man, and woe,That there is not in life for himLiking or love below;That there is not in the world for himA hand or a headThat would be doing a turn for himAlive or dead.
Sharp it is and sorrowful,And bitter is the grief,Sad it is and sorrowfulPast all belief.'Tis all the same how you areTo the passer-by,'Tis all the same to you, at last,To live or die.
Words in this poem
- needs adv.
- Of necessity; necessarily; indispensably; -- often with must, and equivalent to of need. [Orig. gen. of need, used as an adverb. Cf. - wards.]
- amongst prep.
- Mixed or mingled; surrounded by. [OE. amongist, amonges, amonge, among, AS. onmang, ongemang, gemang, in a crowd or mixture. For the ending -st see Amidst. See Mingle.]
- wherever adv.
- At or in whatever place; wheresoever.
- colleen n.
- A girl; a maiden. [Anglo-Irish]
- stricken p. p.
- Struck; smitten; wounded; as, the stricken deer.
- pathway n.
- A footpath; a beaten track; any path or course. Also used figuratively.
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Douglas Hyde is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poem-Book of the Gael Translations from Irish Gaelic Poetry into English Prose and Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #46917; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Eleanor Hull, Douglas Hyde, in The Poem-Book of the Gael (1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #46917, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hull-gael/douglas-hyde.html, id L11798.
Form and metre
Douglas Hyde is 92 lines in 20 stanzas. The metre is trochaic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 72%). 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.8 syllables. 21 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 25% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in trochaic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 6 A-A- colleenA · day · colleenA · love
- 13 -A-A lamentations · tearsA · storeen · yearsA
- 18 -ABA-B-B world · allA · aloneB · allA · great · loneB · say · ownB
- 19 -ABABCBC this · woeA · himB · belowA · himB · headC · himB · deadC
- 20 ABAB-C-C sorrowfulA · griefB · sorrowfulA · beliefB · are · byC · last · dieC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against trochaic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I am watching my young calves sucking; | 9 | ··/˘···/˘ |
| Who are you that would put me out of my luck? | 11 | ··········· |
| Can I not be walking, can I not be walking, | 12 | ····/˘····/˘ |
| Can I not be walking on my own farm-lands? | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| I will not for ever go back before you, | 10 | ····/····· |
| If I must needs be submissive to thee, great is my grief; | 14 | ·····˘/˘······ |
| If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking, | 14 | ··˘/·/˘··/˘·/˘ |
| If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands. | 12 | ··˘/·/˘····· |
| Little heed I pay, and 'tis little my desire, | 12 | /˘·····/˘·˘/ |
| Thy fine blue cloak and thy bright bird's plumes, | 9 | ········· |
| If I cannot be walking, if I cannot be walking, | 14 | ··˘/·/˘··/˘·/˘ |
| If I cannot be walking on my own farm-lands! | 12 | ··˘/·/˘····· |
| There is a day coming, it is plain to my eyes, | 12 | ····/˘······ |
| When there will not be amongst us the mean likes of you; | 13 | ············· |
| But each will be walking, each will be walking, | 11 | ····/˘···/˘ |
| Wherever he will on his own farm-lands. | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| Once I was happy, | 5 | ···/˘ |
| And joyous with that, | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| Now I am sorrowful | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| Weary and sick. | 4 | /˘·· |
| Thinking on the colleen | 6 | /˘···/ |
| By night and by day, | 5 | ····· |
| Hurt by the colleen, | 5 | ····/ |
| Wounded with love. | 4 | /˘·· |
| The sight of her eyes, | 5 | ····· |
| The sweetness of her voice, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| It is these that have stricken me | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And left me without guidance. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| A colleen like she is | 6 | ··/··· |
| Is not in this life, | 5 | ····· |
| And she herself has left | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Myself without sense. | 5 | ·/··· |
| A colleen like she is | 6 | ··/··· |
| Is not in this world; | 5 | ····· |
| Vein of my own heart | 5 | ····· |
| Whom I have chosen. | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Little hand of my love-- | 6 | /˘···· |
| It is whiter than snow; | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| She hath left us with wounds | 6 | ······ |
| And with wandering of the mind. | 8 | ··/˘˘··· |
| Three long months | 3 | ··· |
| Almost, am I lying; | 6 | /···/˘ |
| I am pierced with her arrows | 8 | ···˘··/˘ |
| And my heart in torment. | 6 | ····/· |
| O God of Graces, | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Listen to my prayer, | 5 | /˘··· |
| Give death to me | 4 | ···· |
| Or give me her. | 4 | ···· |
| Look on my lamentations, | 7 | ······· |
| Look on my tears; | 4 | ···· |
| Were not my thoughts on thee, Storeen, | 8 | ········ |
| All these years? | 3 | ··· |
| Look on my lamentations, | 7 | ······· |
| Listen to me, Aroon, | 6 | /˘···· |
| I am as a sheep, | 5 | ····· |
| A sheep without its lamb! | 6 | ······ |
| Wilt thou be hard, | 4 | ···· |
| Colleen, as thou art tender? | 7 | ·/···/˘ |
| Wilt thou be without pity | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| On us for ever? | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Listen to me, Noireen, | 6 | /˘···· |
| Listen, Aroon; | 4 | /˘·· |
| Put some word of healing | 6 | ····/˘ |
| From thy quiet mouth. | 5 | ··/˘· |
| I am in the pathway | 6 | ····/· |
| That is dark and narrow, | 6 | ····/˘ |
| The little path that has guided | 8 | ·/˘···/˘ |
| Thousands to slumber. | 5 | /˘·/˘ |
| Oh, if there were in this wide world | 8 | ········ |
| One little place at all, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| To be my own, my own alone, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| My own over all; | 5 | ····· |
| Great were the joy, the comfort great, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And me so lone, | 4 | ···· |
| With no place in the world to say | 8 | ········ |
| "This is my own." | 4 | ···· |
| Sad it is to be knowing this, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| For any man, and woe, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| That there is not in life for him | 8 | ········ |
| Liking or love below; | 6 | /˘···· |
| That there is not in the world for him | 9 | ········· |
| A hand or a head | 5 | ····· |
| That would be doing a turn for him | 8 | ···/···· |
| Alive or dead. | 4 | ˘/·· |
| Sharp it is and sorrowful, | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| And bitter is the grief, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Sad it is and sorrowful | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| Past all belief. | 4 | ··˘/ |
| 'Tis all the same how you are | 7 | ······· |
| To the passer-by, | 5 | ··/˘· |
| 'Tis all the same to you, at last, | 8 | ········ |
| To live or die. | 4 | ···· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.