by Arthur Stringer
I dream av the good days gone,
Av the luck I still might find;
But the lurin'-most times these eyes look on
Are the years left far behind!
Aroo, how a Kelt heart clings
To the Dreamin' and not the truth!
How it harps on the ould good ways and sings
In the teeth av its wasted youth!
We thravel too early or late
For the shpot where the sunlight glowed;
And it's niver the place we watch and wait
That the rainbow meets the road!
Last updated January 14, 2019