And From You My Dear Country Poem by Francis Duggan

In Shannaknuck the old hill songbirds pipe all the day
And wildflowers bloom in margins by bog road through Liscreagh
And curlew in the bogland his flute like notes I hear
At once so very far away and then so very near.

The skylark leaves the rushes and upwards as he fly
He sings all day from dawning till darkness cloaks the sky
And blackbird, wren and dunnock with finch in song compete
And Spring has come to visit Duhallow and Millstreet.

The moorhen in the river out with her tiny chicks
And jackdaw busy all day to chimney top drawing sticks
And shlaun men in the boglands shlaun out the soggy peat
For summer sun to dry out their source of winter heat.

And Knocknapogue looks greener than she's looked for sometime
And flowers are in the meadows and Spring is in her prime
And old Clara hill looks younger than he's looked days ago
Up to the tenth of April he wore a cap of snow.

And swallows o'er the valley all day wing to and fro
And Winter just a memory and grass growing breezes blow
And hawthorn tree looks lovely resplendent in her white
She's one of Nature's fairest a very pretty sight.

The cattle out to pasture, the sheep high on the hill
And sunshine at eleven to lift the morning chill
A shower of rain at mid day and sun shine out again
The memory of such beauty forever will remain.

I walk the road of Shannaknuck that winds around Liscreagh
And from you my dear Country I've never been away
Your hedgerows in prime beauty wear their green cloaks of May
And Winter just a memory and birds pipe all the day.