I Shall Not die for You
O
woman, shapely as the swan,
On your account I shall not die,
The men you've slain—a trivial clan—
Were less than I.
I ask me shall I die for these,
For blossom-teeth and scarlet lips?
And shall that delicate swan-shape
Bring me eclipse?
Well shaped the breasts and smooth the skin,
The cheeks are fair, the tresses free;
And yet I shall not suffer death,
God over me!
Those even brows, that hair like gold,
Those languorous tones, that virgin way;
The flowing limbs, the rounded heel
Slight men betray.
Thy spirit keen through radiant mien,
Thy shining throat and smiling eye,
Thy little palm, thy side like foam—
I cannot die!
O woman, shapely as the swan,
In a cunning house hard-reared was I;
O bosom white, O well-shaped palm,
I shall not die.
Padraic Colum