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 pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew.

Summer is coming, oh Summer is here
With the leaves on the trees and the skies blue and clear
And the birds they are singing their fond note so true
And the flowers they are springing in the May morning dew.

The house I was reared in is but a stone on a stone
And all round the garden the leaves they have grown
And all the kind neighbours that ever I knew
Like the red rose they've withered in the May morning dew.

God be with the old folks who are now dead and gone
And likewise my brothers young Denis and John
As they tripped through the heather the wild hare to pursue
With their joys they are mingled with the May morning dew.

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