There‘ s a garden that slopes to the south and the sun,
A garden in Kerry I know,
Where the poppy‘ s a-bloom, and the red roses run
O'er the wall, and the pampas-plume's streamers seem spun
Of the floss of the moon in the dusk watches won,
And the lake is a-shimmer below.
There‘ s a garden that‘ s fair, be it day, be it night,
A garden in Kerry I know,
And never an orient dream of delight
Can match with this garden so sweet to my sight,
For here is heart's home to a wandering wight,—
It calls me wherever I go!