  There ’s a garden that slopes to the south and the sun, A garden in Kerry I know, Where the poppy ’s a-bloom, and the red roses run O’er the wall, and the pampas-plume’s streamers seem spun Of the floss of the moon in the dusk watches won, And the lake is a-shimmer below. There ’s a garden that ’s fair, be it day, be it night, A garden in Kerry I know, And never an orient dream of delight Can match with this garden so sweet to my sight, For here is heart’s home to a wandering wight,— It calls me wherever I go! |
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