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70 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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For 'tis green, green, green, where the ruined towers
are gray, And it's green, green, green, all the happy night and
day; Green of leaf and green of sod, green of ivy on the
wall, And the blessed Irish shamrock with the fairest green
of all.
There the primrose breath is sweet, and the yellow
gorse is set A crown of shining gold on the headlands brown and
wet; Not a nook of all the land but the daisies make to
glow, And the happy violets pray in their hidden cells below.
And it's there the earth is merry, like a young thing
newly made Running wild amid' the blossoms in the field and in
the glade, Babbling ever into music under skies with soft clouds
piled, Like the laughter and the tears in the blue eyes of a
child.
But the green, green, green, O 'tis that is blithe and
fair! In the fells and on the hills, gay and gladsome as the
air, Lying warm above the bog, floating brave on crag and
glen, Thrusting forty banners high where another land has
ten. |
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