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Eliza Cook (Элиза Кук)


St. Patrick’s Day


St. Patrick’s Day! St. Patrick’s Day!
Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay—
I’ve got thee buzzing in my brain,
And cannot turn thee out again.
Oh, mercy! music may be bliss
But not in such a shape as this,
When all I do, and all I say,
Begins and ends in Patricks’s Day.

Had it but been in opera shape,
Italian squall, or German scrape,
Fresh from the bow of Paganini,
Or caught from Weber of Rossini,
One would not care so much—but, oh!
The sad plebeian shame to know
An old blind fiddler bore away
My senses with St. Patrick’s Day.

I take up Burke in hopes to chase
The plaguing phantom from its place;
But all in vain—attention wavers
From classic lore to triplet quavers;
An “Essay” on the great “Sublime”
Sounds strangely set in six-eight time.
Down goes the book, read how I may,
The words will flow to Patrick’s Day.



Eliza Cook's other poems:
  1. The Thames
  2. Song of the Worm
  3. The Banner of Union
  4. The Raising of the Maypole
  5. Teddy O'Neale


Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Jean Blewett (Джин Блюетт) St. Patrick’s Day ("There’s an Isle, a green Isle, set in the sea")

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