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O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling |
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From glen to glen, and down the mountain side. |
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The summer's gone and all the roses falling; |
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It's you, it's you must go and I must bide. |
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But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, |
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Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow. |
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And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow; |
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Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so! |
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But when ye come, and all the flow'rs are dying, |
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If I am dead, as dead I well may be. |
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Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying, |
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And kneel and say an Ave there for me. |
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And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me; |
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And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, |
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For you will bend and tell me that you love me; |
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And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me! |
