<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537112" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>John Kinsella's Lament For Mr. Mary Moore</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">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?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">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?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Butler+Yeats">William Butler Yeats</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537112" data-title="John Kinsella's Lament For Mr. Mary Moore de William Butler Yeats" data-description="A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister, My cousins by the score, But nothing satisfied the fool But my dear Mary Moore, None other knows what ..."></div> </div> </div>

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