But blood for blood without remorse,
    I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow
    And placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
    Where I full soon will follow;
    And round her grave I wander drear,
    Noon, night and morning early,
    With breaking heart whene'er I hear
    The wind that shakes the barley
                  Robert Dwyer Joyce 
                      (1836–1883)

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