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