Classic Poem

Oh, did you go to see the show,
Each rose and pink and lily O,
To feast your eyes upon the prize
Won by the Orange Lily O?

The Viceroy there so debonair,
Just like a daffydilly O,
And Lady Clarke, blithe as a lark,
Approached the Orange Lily O.

Then heigh-ho the Lily O,
The royal loyal Lily O,
Beneath the sky what flow'r can vie
With Ireland's Orange Lily O.

The elated muse, to hear the news,
Jumped like a Connacht filly O,
As gossip fame did loud proclaim
The triumph of the Lily O.

The lowland field may roses yield,
Gay heaths the highlands hilly O,
But high or low, no flower can show
Like the glorious Orange Lily O.

Let dandies fine in Bond Street shine,
Gay nymphs in Piccadilly,
But fine or gay will yield the day
To Erin's Orange Lily O.

Then heigh-ho the Lily O,
The royal, loyal Lily O,
There's not a flower in Erin's bower,
Can match the Orange Lily O.

So come brave boys and share her joys
And drink a health to Willy O,
Who bravely wore on Boyne's red shore
The royal loyal Lily O.