The robin he sings on green sycamore bough <br />And calf drink from udder of her mother cow <br />And the dark otters play in quiet pools of the stream <br />And May's come to Ireland and meadows are green, <br />The sun in the morning shine through the gray fog <br />And the turf cutters shlaun out dark peat in brown bog <br />And the gorse bloom with yellow flowers on the brown hill <br />And golden buttercups bloom on green banks of the rill, <br />The skylark is carolling his clear notes of joy <br />As he soars towards the heavens a speck in the sky <br />And the plain mottled pheasant she sits on her nest <br />Her twelve olive brown eggs so warm neath her breast <br />And the swallows fly o'er the green meadows all day <br />And the hedgerows scent sweet with the blossoms of May.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/may-s-come-to-ireland/
