And he fancied the sky never looked so bright,
The grass so green, the daisies so white;
Everything looked so gay in his sight
That gladly he’d linger to watch them till night—
And Molly herself thought each little bird,
Whose warbling notes her calm soul stirred,—
Sang only his lay but by her to be heard.
An Irish courtship’s short and sweet,
It’s sometimes foolish and indiscreet;
But who is wise when his young heart’s heat