X: 1
T: My Wild Irish Rose
C: Chauncey Alcott (1899)
R: waltz
M: 3/4
K: C
W: 1. If you listen I'll sing you a sweet little song
W: Of a flower that's now droped and dead,
W: Yet dearer to me, yes than all of its mates,
W: Though each holds aloft its proud head.
W: Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
W: Since we've met, faith I've known no repose.
W: She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,
W: And I call her my wild Irish Rose.
W:
W: Ch. My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows.
W: You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose.
W: My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows,
W: And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
W:
W: 2. They may sing of their roses, which by other names,
W: Would smell just as sweetly, they say.
W: But I know that my Rose would never consent
W: To have that sweet name taken away.
W: Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by
W: The bower where my true love grows,
W: And my one wish has been that some day I may win
W: The heart of my wild Irish Rose.