How sweet ‘tis in winter to sit by the hob,
Listening to the bark and the howls of a dog.
Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through,
And to pluck the wild flowers in the May morning dew.

Summer is coming, oh summer is here,
With the leaves all so green and the sky bright and clear.
And the birds they’re singing their loved ones to woo,
And the flowers they are springing in the May morning dew.

God be with the old folk who are now dead and gone,
And likewise my brothers, young Michael and John.
As they tripped through the heather the wild hare to pursue,
And their joys they were mingled in the May morning dew.

And the house we were reared in is but a stone on a stone,
And all round the garden with weeds is all grown.
And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew,
Like the wild rose, they’re withered in the May morning dew.