Before the first ray of blushing day,
  Who should come by but Kitty Bhan,
With her cheek like the rose on a bed of snows,
  And her bosom beneath like the sailing swan.
  I looked and looked till my heart was gone.
 
With the foot of the fawn she crossed the lawn,
  Half confiding and half in fear;
And her eyes of blue they thrilled me through,
  One blessèd minute; then like the deer,
  Away she started, and left me here.
 
Oh! Sun, you are late at your golden gate,
  For you've nothing to show beneath the sky
To compare to the lass who crossed the grass
  Of the shamrock field ere the dew was dry,
  And the glance that she gave me as she went by.