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When I dream of old Erin, I'm dreaming of you, With your sweet, roguish smile and your true eyes of blue. For my love, like the shamrock, each day stronger grew, When I dream of old Erin, I'm dreaming of you.

By Killarney's lakes and fells, Em'rald Isles and winding bays, Mountain paths and woodland dells, Mem'ry ever fondly strays. Bounteous nature loves all lands, Beauty wanders every-where, Foot-prints leaves on many strands, But her home is surely there.

Angels fold their wings and rest, In that Eden of the West, Beauty's home Killarney— Ever fair Killarney

My wild Irish Rose, The sweetest flower that grows You may search everywhere, But none can compare With my wild Irish Rose, My wild Irish Rose, The dearest flower that blows And some day, for my sake, She may let me take The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.