Such a land, when tree and flower tossed their kisses to the breeze?
Could an Irish heart be quiet
While the Spring was runnin’ riot,
An’ the birds of free America were singin’ in the trees?
In the songs that they were singin’
No familiar note was ringin’,
But I strove to imitate them an’ I whistled like a lad.
Oh, my heart was warm to love them
For the very newness of them—
For the ould songs that they helped me to forget—an’ I was glad.