The Rose is sweetly blushing,
And virgin Lillys bloom,
While Summer winds are bearing,
Their Heaven sent perfume.
And sweet young birds are singing,
Upon the beechen trees,
Beneath whose shade I'm thinking,
Dear Rosaleen of thee.

Your lovely golden tresses,
Your heart and spirit free,
Where e'er I'll be my Rosaleen,
I'll always think of thee.

For when in old Dun Laoighaire,
On many a Summer's eve,
We wonder through the meadows,
The future spell to weave,
My joy, my rose, my sunlight,
Lilly and birdie free,
I see a wonderous magic,
Dear Rosaleen in thee.

All's gone save memory's lovely smile,
From Eireann far away,
Your glowing soul to Heaven's flown,
Your frame in Churchyard clay,
While inward hope celestial,
Is all that's left for me,
And a dream across the twilight,
Dear Rosaleen of thee.