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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537181" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ballad Of Moll Magee</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">COME round me, little childer;<br>There, don't fling stones at me<br>Because I mutter as I go;<br>But pity Moll Magee.<br>My man was a poor fisher<br>With shore lines in the say;<br>My work was saltin' herrings<br>The whole of the long day.<br>And sometimes from the Saltin' shed<br>I scarce could drag my feet,<br>Under the blessed moonlight,<br>Along thc pebbly street.<br>I'd always been but weakly,<br>And my baby was just born;<br>A neighbour minded her by day,<br>I minded her till morn.<br>I lay upon my baby;<br>Ye little childer dear,<br>I looked on my cold baby<br>When the morn grew frosty and clear.<br>A weary woman sleeps so hard!<br>My man grew red and pale,<br>And gave me money, and bade me go<br>To my own place, Kinsale.<br>He drove me out and shut the door.<br>And gave his curse to me;<br>I went away in silence,<br>No neighbour could I see.<br>The windows and the doors were shut,<br>One star shone faint and green,<br>The little straws were turnin round<br>Across the bare boreen.<br>I went away in silence:<br>Beyond old Martin's byre<br>I saw a kindly neighbour<br>Blowin' her mornin' fire.<br>She drew from me my story --<br>My money's all used up,<br>And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,<br>She gives me bite and sup.<br>She says my man will surely come<br>And fetch me home agin;<br>But always, as I'm movin' round,<br>Without doors or within,<br>Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,<br>Or goin' to the well,<br>I'm thinkin' of my baby<br>And keenin' to mysel'.<br>And Sometimes I am sure she knows<br>When, openin' wide His door,<br>God lights the stats, His candles,<br>And looks upon the poor.<br>So now, ye little childer,<br>Ye won't fling stones at me;<br>But gather with your shinin' looks<br>And pity Moll Magee.</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>
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<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=537181" data-title="The Ballad Of Moll Magee de William Butler Yeats" data-description="COME round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee.
My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.
And sometimes from the Salt..."></div>
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