Correspondence: Verse 2, Sigerson edition, "Poetry of Munster" This garden is a wilderness, oh! white love; or, are you sorry for it? Under the fine white fruits that are growing like the foliage of the branches. I would not think the voice of a thrush more sweet going this street, or the melodious voice of the birds; And sure my love has eloped from me, the ringletted "cool", to the castle of O'Neill. translator: Douglas Hyde page 27, "Love Songs of Connacht"
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