Of all the girls with clustering curls from Kerry to Kildare,
There’s not a lass that can surpass my love with the golden hair.
Oh! if the sun should cease to shine, the moon refused her ray,
Her very shadow on the earth would turn the night to day.

Now what’s my chance to gain a glance from one so good and fair,
With all the boys from Clanmacnoise to Cork around her chair?
Yet somehow still she steals one look upon me through the throng;
And when I sing, with smiles and tears she answers to my song.