Shamrock Song

Shamrock Song 

by Katherine Tynan

O, the red rose may be fair,

And the lily statelier;

But my shamrock, one in three,

Takes the very heart of me!

Many a lover hath the rose

When June's musk-wind breathes and blows:

And in many a bower is heard

Her sweet praise from bee and bird.

Through the gold hours dreameth she,

In her warm heart passionately,

Her fair face hung languid-wise:

O, her breath of honey and spice!

Like a fair saint virginal

Stands your lily, silver and tall;

Over all the flowers that be

Is my shamrock dear to me.

Sines the lily like the sun,

Crystal-pure, a cold, sweet nun;

With her austere lip she sings

To her heart of heavenly things.

Gazeth through a night of June

To her sister-saint, the moon;

With the stars communeth long

Of the angels and their song.

But when summer died last year

Rose and lily died with her;

Shamrock stayeth every day,

Be the winds or gold or grey.

Irish hills, as grey as the dove,

Know the little plant I love;

Warm and fair it mantles them

Stretching down from throat to hem.

And it laughs o'er many a vale,

Sheltered safe from storm and gale;

Sky and sun and stars thereof

Love the gentle plant I love.

Soft it clothes the ruined floor

Of many an abbey, grey and hoar,

And the still home of the dead

With its green is carpeted.

Roses for an hour of love,

With the joy and pain thereof:

Stand my lilies white to see

All for prayer and purity.

These are white as the harvest moon,

Roses flush like the heart of June;

But my shamrock, brave and gay,

Glads the tired eyes every day.

O, the red rose shineth rare,

And the lily saintly fair;

But my shamrock, one in three,

Takes the inmost heart of me!