To Killiney far away flies my fond heart night and day, 
To ramble light and happy through its fields and dells, 
For here life smiles in vain, and earth's a land of pain, 
While all that's bright in Erin in Killiney dwells. 

In Killiney in the West has a linnet sweet her nest, 
And her song makes all the wild birds in the green wood dumb;
To the captive without cheer, it were freedom but to hear 
Such sorrow-soothing music from her fair throat come. 

In Killiney's bower blows a blushing, budding rose, 
With perfume of the rarest that the June day yields; 
And none who pass the way, but sighing wish that they 
Might cull that fragrant flower of the dewy fields. 

Through Killiney's meadows pass, on their way to early Mass, 
Like twin stars 'mid the grass, two small feet bare; 
And angel-pure the heart, where the murmured Aves start 
On their wingéd way to Heaven from the chapel there. 

The pride of Irish girls is the dear brown head of curls, 
The pearl white of pearls, stoirin bàn mo chroidhe; 
As bright-browed as the dawn, and as meek-eyed as the fawn, 
And as graceful as the swan gliding on to sea.  

Not for jewels or for gold, nor for hoarded wealth untold, 
Not for all that mortals hold most desired and dear, 
Would I my share forgo in the loving heart aglow 
That beats beneath the snow of her bosom fair. 

Soon Killiney will you weep -- for I'll know not rest nor sleep, 
Till swiftly o'er the deep I with white sails come, 
To win the linnet sweet, and the two white twinkling feet, 
And the heart with true love beating, to my far-off home. 

And O! farewell to care, when the rose of perfume rare, 
And the dear brown curling hair on my proud breast lie; 
Then Killiney far away, never more by night or day, 
To thy skies, or dark or grey, shall my fond heart fly.