SPRING LONGING
Often I wish that I might be,
This gay and golden weather,
Among my father's fields, ah, me!
And he and I together.
This gay and golden weather,
Among my father's fields, ah, me!
And he and I together.
Below the mountains, fair and dim,
My father's fields are spreading.
I'd rather tread the sward with him
Than I would dance at a wedding.
My father's fields are spreading.
I'd rather tread the sward with him
Than I would dance at a wedding.
O green and fresh your English sod
With daisies sprinkled over;
But greener far were the fields I trod,
And the honeyed Irish clover.
With daisies sprinkled over;
But greener far were the fields I trod,
And the honeyed Irish clover.
O, well your skylark cleaves the blue
To bid the sun good-morrow;
He has not the bonny song I knew
High over an Irish furrow.
To bid the sun good-morrow;
He has not the bonny song I knew
High over an Irish furrow.
And often, often, Fm longing still,
This gay and golden weather,
For my father's face by an Irish hill,
And he and I together.
This gay and golden weather,
For my father's face by an Irish hill,
And he and I together.