The familiar song of the goldfinch takes me to places far away
To leafy groves and hedgerows scenting of the blooms of May
Though not the finest songster in the northern or southern Spring
One never could mistake him in the song he has to sing.
Each time I hear a goldfinch in fancy I hear the rill
Go babbling towards the river down the high field by the hill
On through the flower decked meadows from recent showers lush and green
In Nature's rural places so much beauty to be seen.
The white breasted northern dipper in his cloak of darkish brown
Is singing in the Finnow that flows by Millstreet Town
And the robin's notes sound pleasant in my memory's eye I see
And hear him sing with the sun on his orange breast upon an alder tree.
Each time I hear a goldfinch in fancy my thoughts take wing
And I am in the leafy grove in the far northern Spring
The nesting birds are singing and everywhere lush and green
And the wild bluebells are blooming on the ditch of the bohreen.
To leafy groves and hedgerows scenting of the blooms of May
Though not the finest songster in the northern or southern Spring
One never could mistake him in the song he has to sing.
Each time I hear a goldfinch in fancy I hear the rill
Go babbling towards the river down the high field by the hill
On through the flower decked meadows from recent showers lush and green
In Nature's rural places so much beauty to be seen.
The white breasted northern dipper in his cloak of darkish brown
Is singing in the Finnow that flows by Millstreet Town
And the robin's notes sound pleasant in my memory's eye I see
And hear him sing with the sun on his orange breast upon an alder tree.
Each time I hear a goldfinch in fancy my thoughts take wing
And I am in the leafy grove in the far northern Spring
The nesting birds are singing and everywhere lush and green
And the wild bluebells are blooming on the ditch of the bohreen.
