I Am Of Ireland
William Butler Yeats
I am of Ireland
And the Holy Land of Ireland
And time runs on cried she
Come out of charity
Come dance with me in Ireland.
One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head
That is a long way off
And time runs on he said
And the night grows rough
I am of Ireland
And the Holy Land of Ireland
And time runs on, cried she
Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland
The fiddlers are all thumbs
Or the fiddle-string accursed
The drums and the kettledrums
And the trumpets all are burst
And the trombone cried he
The trumpet and trombone
And cocked a malicious eye
But time runs on, runs on
I am of Ireland
And the Holy Land of Ireland
And time runs on cried she
Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland
Oh Danny Boy
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
But come you back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valleys hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me
And I shall hear, though' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I simply sleep in peace until you come to me
