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Oh, 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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It's 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 flowers are dying, |
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If I am dead, as dead I well may be, |
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You'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! |
