Classic Poem

Ah , sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year,
— When the hawthorn's whiter than the snow,
When the feathered folk assemble and the air is all a-tremble
— With their singing and their winging to and fro;
When queenly Slievenamon puts her verdant vesture on,
— And smiles to hear the news the breezes bring;
When the sun begins to glance on the rivulets that dance —
— Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring!

Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year,
— When the mists are rising from the lea,
When the Golden Vale is smiling with a beauty all beguiling,
— And the Suir goes crooning to the sea;
When the shadows and the showers only multiply the flowers
— That the lavish hand of May will fling;
When in unfrequented ways, fairy music softly plays —
— Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring!

Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year,
— When life like the year is young,
When the soul is just awaking like a lily blossom breaking,
— And love words linger on the tongue;
When the blue of Irish skies is the hue of Irish eyes,
— And love-dreams cluster and cling
Round the heart and round the brain, half of pleasure, half of pain —
— Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring!