The Midland Great Western is doing its best, <br />And the circular ticket is safe in my vest; <br />But I know that my holiday never begins <br />Till I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins. <br /> <br />The Bank has no fortune of mine to invest <br />But there's money enough for the ones I love best; <br />All the gold that I want I shall find on the whins <br />When I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins. <br /> <br />Down by the Lough I shall wander once more' <br />Where the wavelets lap lap round the stones on the shore: <br />And the mountainy goats will be wagging their chins <br />As they pull at the bracken among the Twelve Pins. <br /> <br />And its welcome I'll be, for no longer I'll meet <br />The hard pallid faces I find in the street; <br />The girl with blue eyes, and the boy with brown shins, <br />Will stand for their pictures among the twelve Pins. <br /> <br />Tonight, when all London's with gaslight agleam, <br />And the Carlton is filled with society's cream', <br />I'll be 'takin' me tay' down at ould Johnny Flynn's <br />Safe and away in the heart o' the Pins.<br /><br />William Percy French<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-west/
