Brendan Behan

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Brendan Behan The Laughing Boy T’was on an August morning, all in the dawning hours, I went to take the warming air, all in the Mouth of Flowers, And there I saw a maiden, and mournful was her cry, ‘Ah what will mend my broken heart, I’ve lost my Laughing Boy. So strong, so wild, and brave he was, I’ll mourn his loss too sore, When thinking that I’ll hear the laugh or springing step no more. Ah, curse the times and sad the loss my heart to crucify, That an Irish son with a rebel gun shot down my Laughing Boy. Oh had he died by Pearse’s side or in the GPO, Killed by an English bullet from the rifle of the foe, Or forcibly fed with Ashe lay dead in the dungeons of Mountjoy, I’d have cried with pride for the way he died, my own dear Laughing Boy. My princely love, can ageless love do more than tell to you, Go raibh mile maith agat for all you tried to do, For all you did, and would have done, my enemies to destroy, I’ll mourn your name and praise your fame, forever, my Laughing Boy. To Beatrice When the timid eye looks at you fearful and full of guilt, In hope its woeful look will catch you smile across the quilt. Oh what hopes of reformation promises to stick to stout Beating breasts and condemnation of late stopping out. Curling up and dreamy fondling Going as far as it can yet Paws are moving, surer, loving Further than they should be let. Till the process is completed Grace and absolution said Purring, moves in, snuggles closer, Stretches happily in the bed. Why does any woman double give herself the nuisance that husbands are when with less trouble She could buy and train a cat?

The Laughing Boy

T’was on an August morning, all in the dawning hours,

I went to take the warming air, all in the Mouth of Flowers,

And there I saw a maiden, and mournful was her cry,

‘Ah what will mend my broken heart, I’ve lost my Laughing Boy.

So strong, so wild, and brave he was, I’ll mourn his loss too sore,

When thinking that I’ll hear the laugh or springing step no more.

Ah, curse the times and sad the loss my heart to crucify,

That an Irish son with a rebel gun shot down my Laughing Boy.

Oh had he died by Pearse’s side or in the GPO,

Killed by an English bullet from the rifle of the foe,

Or forcibly fed with Ashe lay dead in the dungeons of Mountjoy,

I’d have cried with pride for the way he died, my own dear Laughing Boy.

My princely love, can ageless love do more than tell to you,

Go raibh mile maith agat for all you tried to do,

For all you did, and would have done, my enemies to destroy,

I’ll mourn your name and praise your fame, forever, my Laughing Boy.

To Beatrice

When the timid eye looks at you

fearful and full of guilt,

In hope its woeful look will catch you

smile across the quilt.

Oh what hopes of reformation

promises to stick to stout

Beating breasts and condemnation

of late stopping out.

Curling up and dreamy fondling

Going as far as it can yet

Paws are moving, surer, loving

Further than they should be let.

Till the process is completed

Grace and absolution said

Purring, moves in, snuggles closer,

Stretches happily in the bed.

Why does any woman double
give herself the nuisance that
husbands are when with less trouble
She could buy and train a cat?