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Music and Lyrics by Chauncey Olcott (1899) If you listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song Of a flower that's now drooped and dead, Yet dearer to me, yes, than all of its mates, Tho' each holds aloft its proud head. T'was given to me by a girl that I know; Since we've met, faith, I've no repose. She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star And I call her my wild Irish Rose. My wild Irish Rose, The sweetest flow'r that grows. You may search ev'ry where, but none can compare With my wild Irish Rose. My wild Irish Rose, The dearest flow'r that grows And some day for my sake, she may let me take The bloom from my wild Irish Rose. |