Mo chreach ghéarchúiseach
Ná rabhas ar do chúlaibh nuair lámhadh an púdar,
Go ngeobhainn é im chom dheas nó i mbinn mo ghúna,
Is go léigfinn cead siúil leat a mharcaigh na súl nglas ós tú b'fhearr léigean chucu
My biting bitter loss i was not at your back when the powder was fired so my fine waist could save you or the hem of my dress 'til i let you go free my slate-eyed writer well-able for them all.
