The song of the robin I fancy I hear
One cannot mistake it melodious and clear
And skylark looks like a small speck in the sky
As carolling sweetly upwards he does fly.
Far north in distance I travel when I visualize
The chaffinch I can hear singing at sunrise
And I can hear the babble of the silver tongued rill
Flowing down to the river from the foot of the hill.
The old fields are looking so lush and so green
And bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
The balmy Summer in the bloom of her prime
At a time of year that inspires wordsmiths to rhyme.
When I visualize I am far north of here
In June quite a beautiful time of the year
When young birds are chirping in grove and hedgerow
And in the rank rushes the cock pheasant crow.