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The winter it has passed |
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And the summer's come at last |
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The small birds are singing in the trees |
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And their little hearts are glad |
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Ah, but mine is very sad |
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Since my true love is far away from me |
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And straight I will repair |
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To the Curragh of Kildare |
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For it's there I'll finds tidings of my dear |
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The rose upon the briar |
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And the clouds that float so high |
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Bring joy to the linnet and the bee |
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And their little hearts are blessed |
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But mine can know no rest |
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Since my true love is far away from me |
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All you who are in love |
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Aye and cannot it remove |
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I pity the pain that you endure |
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For experience lets me know |
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That your hearts are filled with woe |
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It's a woe that no mortal can cure |
