O my head’s in a whirl for your sake Fan Fitzger’l!
Ah! white bosomed pearl of the coast of Kilkee!
And here’s my hand to witness I’m kilt by the completeness
Of the cruelty and sweetness that in you so agree.

For your blue eyes beneath their black silky sheath
Go darting such death on admiring man,
Love had better point his arrows from this out against the sparrows,
For our hearts they cannot harness like your soft glances, Fan.

And what not ever spread matched the curls of your head,
For each gold waving thread it has noosed a brave boy!
While your slender nose, my jewel, sure no precipice as cruel,
Dips down from Carran Tual poor rovers to destroy.

I could go sighing on of your blush like the dawn,
And a shape like the swan ‘neath your gown’s graceful curl!
But what need, when all the village has forsook its peaceful tillage
And flown to war and pillage for your sake, Fan Fitzger’l.