|
Oh the pipes, the pipes calling. |
| From glen to and the mountain side. |
| The summer's and all the roses falling. |
| 'Tis you, you must go, and I must bide. |
|
| But come ye back summer's in the meadow, |
| Or when the hushed and white snow. |
| 'Tis be here in sunshine or in shadow. |
| Oh Danny Boy, oh I so. |
|
| But when ye and the flowers dying, |
| And I am as I may be, |
| Go out and find the place where I am lying, |
| And kneel and say an Ave there for me. |
|
| And I will hear soft tread above me, |
| And then my grave will warm and sweeter be. |
| For shall bend and me that me, |
| And I will sleep in peace until you come to me. |