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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420097" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Michael Furey</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420097" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">That night was cold, <br>The wind was biting.<br>All over Ireland<br>the snow was falling</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420097" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">"I was packing<br>my trousseau, <br>To Dublin town<br>I was to go."<br>"I heard a pebble<br>strike my pane.<br>A moment passed, <br>then, there, again."<br>"I looked out<br>On the snow filled lane.<br>That's when I saw him, <br>Saw my Michael.<br>His pale face raised<br>toward my light.<br>Like an angel<br>lost in contemplation."<br>"Michael's health was not the best.<br>His lungs were weak<br>and fluid filled."<br>"Soon after I had left the West, <br>I heard that he had fallen ill."<br>"He's buried now near Sligo town, <br>between Ben Bulben and the sea.<br>'May my Michael rest in peace, <br>I think he died for love of me.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a></strong></div>