Ringsend

I will live in Ringsend

With our red-headed beoire

And the fanlight gone in where it hits the hall door

And listens each night for her querulous shout

As at last, she streels in and the pubs empty out

To soothe that wild breast with my old-fangled songs

And she feels it

I will live in Ringsend

With our red-headed beoire

From inordinate wrongs

Imagined, outrageous, preposterous wrongs

Till peace at last comes, shall be all I will do

Where the littlе lamp blooms like a rose in the stеw

And up the back garden

And she feels it

From inordinate wrongs

Imagined, outrageous, preposterous wrongs

Till peace at last comes, shall be all I will do

Where the little lamp blooms like a rose in the stew

And up the back garden

The sound comes to me of the lapsing, unsoilable, whispering sea

She feels it

She feels it

The sound comes to me of the lapsing, unsoilable, whispering sea

She feels it

She feels it

She feels it

She feels it