If you ever go across the sea to Ireland
Then maybe at the closin' of your day
You will sit and watch the moonrise over Claddagh
And watch the barefoot gossoons at their play
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream
The women in the meadows makin' hay
And to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay
For the breeze's blowin' oÃ‚Â´er the seas from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow;
And the women in the upland digginÃ‚Â´ praties
Speak a language that...
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