Scoil: Kilmessan (B.) (uimhir rolla 4210)

Ar an leathanach seo

1. Songs (ar lean)

   “Who says our country's soul is dead?”

   

   Roinn Roinn Postáil

   (ar lean ón leathanach roimhe)

   And surely if they could.
   II
   Then the wind comes creeping near;
   Tired of fighting with the trees,
   Listening with a sort of fear,
   To such merry sounds as these.
   Crying like a child in pain,
   With a foolish ceaseless din;
   Knocking on the grass again,
   Begging them to let it in.
   III
   Out spoke little "Curleyhead"
   This poor wind has taken ill;
   Soon it will be lying dead
   On the frozen sill.
   Very cruel children we
   If we let it die alone -
   If we do not run and see
   Why it makes that dreary moan.
   IIII
   And he flung the window wide
   And the wind came tearing through

   (leanann ar an chéad leathanach eile)

   

   Tras-scríofa ag duine dár meitheal tras-scríbhneoirí deonacha.

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