The May Morning Dew
Source: The Stone Fiddle by Paddy Tunney
Location: New Edition, page 38 / 39
How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob,
Listening to the barks and the howls of a dog.
Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through,
And to pluck the wild roses from the May Morning Dew.
Summer is coming, oh! summer is here,
With the leaves all so green and the sky blue and clear.
And the birds they are singing their fond mates to woo,
And the flowers they are springing in the May Morning Dew.
Go be with the old folk who are now dead and gone,
And likewise my brothers, young Denis and John.
As we tripped through the heather, the wild hare to pursue,
And our joys they were mingled with the May Morning Dew.
The house we were reared in, there’s not a stone on a stone,
And all round the garden with weeds is o’ergrown.
And all the kind neighbours that ever I knew,
Like the red nose they are faded from the May Morning Dew.