Classic Poem

Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,
Over the sea, over the sea,
Till I come back to Ireland one sunny day,—
Betther for me, betther for me
The first time me foot got the feel o' the ground
I was sthrollin' along in an Irish city,
That hasn't its aquil the world around
For the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.

Light on their feet now they passed me an' sped,
Give you me word, give you me word,
Every girl wid a turn o' the head
Just like a bird, just like a bird;
An' the lashes so thick round their beautiful eyes
Shinin' to tell you it's fair time o' day wid them,
Back in me heart wid a kind o' surprise
I think how the Irish girls has the way wid them!

Och man alive! but it's little ye know
That never was there, never was there.
Look where ye like for them, long may ye go,—
What do I care? what do I care?
Plenty as blackberries where will ye find
Rare pretty girls not by two nor by three o' them?
Only just there where they grow, d'ye mind
Still like the blackberries, more than ye see o' them.

Long, long away, an' no matther how far,
'Tis the girls that I miss, the girls that I miss:
Women are round ye wherever ye are
Not worth a kiss, not worth a kiss.
Over in Ireland many's the one,—
Well do I know, that has nothing to say wid them,—
Sweeter than anythin' undher the sun,
Och, 'tis the Irish girls has the way wid them!