In the mountains of Kentucky,
Where the ivy's astral bloom
And the laurel's waxen petals
Shed a rich and rare perfume;
Where the purple rhododendron
And the wild forget-me-not
Bloom in amorous profusion
Round a little mossy grot.
It was there I left Rowena,
She is waiting now for me,
While I linger here impatient,
For my love I long to see.
Oh, but soon I know I'll see her,
And never more we'll part—
In the mountains of Kentucky,
Lives my own, my true sweetheart.

She's a fairy, I'll admit, a little airy;
But her eyes are like the blue Aegean sea:
And her auburn hair, it would drive you to despair,
For Rowena's heart is true to none but me.

In the mountains of Kentucky,
Though the grass may not be blue,
Yet the streams are swift and sparkling,
And Rowena's heart is true:
And I love the lofty mountains,
And the deep and darkling coves,
Where the redbirds gloom and glimmer,
And Rowena lives and loves.
'Tis the home, they say, of feudist,
Where the hand of man is red;
But I know a hundred places,
Where blood's as wanton shed:
Yet no spot in all creation
Has a sky of such a hue—
In the mountains of Kentucky
Lives my sweetheart pure and true.

In the Blue-grass of Kentucky
Now Rowena waits for me,
With a brood of little fairies
That my heart so longs to see;
For their eyes are bright and sparkling
As the drops of diamond dew—
In the Blue-grass of Kentucky,
Live my sweethearts pure and true:
Yes, I love the lofty mountains,
And the deep and darkling cove,
Where the redbirds gloom and glimmer,
And the sky is bright above;
But one spot to me is dearer
Than all the world apart,
In the Blue-grass of Kentucky,
Lives my own, my true sweetheart.