And a shamrock brooch in its snow doth rest,
And her lips are soft and warm.
As over his shoulder she bends the light
Of her dark eyes on the page,
She fires his heart with its ancient might,
With thoughts of old seasons of glorious fight,
’Neath the Shamrock Shield in the cause of right.
To aid hapless Beauty is still his delight,
Though he’s grey with the frosts of age.
So gentle she seems, so appealing, so sure