By JH Sayyar
O emerald star in Erin’s misty skies,
Thy voice, a lilt of harp and ocean spray,
Doth stir the soul where ancient magic lies
And paints with song the dullest hearts to play
Thy eyes hold depths where wild Atlantic roars,
Yet soft they shine like dewdrops on the heath;
In them, the ghost of queens and rebel wars
Doth sleep beneath thy laughter's gentle wreath
Thy step is woven from the winds and rain,
Thy cute smile the sunrise over Galway Bay;
No sorrow stays where thou dost long remain,
Nor night can hold when thou hast touched the day.
O Lady Fair, in thee all graces do blend—
The soul of Ireland in one noble friend
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