Irish Spinning-Wheel Song
By Alfred Perceval Graves
From The Cabinet of Irish Literature, Volume 4, edited by T. P. O'Connor
Show me a sight
Bates for delight
An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.
O! No!
Nothin' you'll show
Aquals her sittin' and takin' a twirl at it. Look at her there,
Night in her hair—
The blue ray of day from her eye laughin' out on us!
Faix, an' a foot,
Perfect of cut,
Peepin' to put an end to all doubt in us.
That there's a sight
Bates for delight
An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.
O! No!
Nothin' you'll show
Aquals her sittin' an' takin' a twirl at it.
How the lamb's wool
Turns coarse an' dull
By them soft, beautiful, weeshy, white hands of her,
Down goes her heel,
Roun' runs the reel,
Purrin' wid pleasure to take the commands of her.
Then show me a sight
Bates for delight
An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.
O! No!
Nothin' you'll show
Aquals her sittin' an' takin' a twirl at it.
Talk of Three Fates,
Seated on seats,
Spinnin' and shearin' away till they've done for me.
You may want three
For your massacree,
But one fate for me, boys, and only the one for me.
And
Isn't that fate,
Pictured complate,
An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it?
O! No!
Nothin' you'll show,
Aquals her sittin' an' takin' a twirl at it.
See also Alfred Perceval Graves and Irish Lullaby