There is a town in Ireland, <br />A little town I know; <br />Its girls have tender Irish eyes <br />Beneath their brows of snow; <br />And in the field around it <br />The Fairy Hawthorns grow. <br /> <br />O, the Hawthorn is a Queen <br />And the daughter of a King, <br />And amidst her branches green <br />The sweet brown thrushes sing. <br /> <br />And from that little city <br />Three roads forever run <br />And on those roads the people, <br />The father and the son, <br />The mother and the daughter, <br />Walk till the day is done. <br /> <br />O, the Hawthorn is a Queen <br />And the daughter of a King, <br />And amidst her branches green <br />The thrushes sadly sing. <br /> <br />One road runs to the seaport <br />Where stately vessels lie <br />American, Australian <br />The weeping exiles cry, <br />Farewell to Grave and Hearthstone! <br />Dear Ireland - good-bye! <br /> <br />O, the Hawthorn is a Queen <br />And the daughter of a King, <br />And amidst her branches green <br />'Farewell!' the thrushes sing. <br /> <br />One road it is a red, red road <br />That road to England goes; <br />The battle-drums are sounding, <br />The trump of battle blows; <br />And Ireland's sons go forth to fight <br />Against Red England's foes. <br /> <br />O, the Hawthorn is a Queen <br />And the daughter of a King, <br />And within her heart of green <br />The mournful thrushes sing. <br /> <br />One road it is a quiet road; <br />They travel it full slow, <br />Their eyes are filled with sorrow, <br />The silent folk who go <br />To where the Stones of Silence <br />Are shining, row on row. <br /> <br />O, the Hawthorn is a Queen <br />And a Lady fair and grand, <br />And the thrushes sing the keen <br />Of the Dead - in Ireland.<br /><br />Victor Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-three-roads-2/
