If you would come to Ireland
We might sail upon that western ocean
With inquisitive swans, bobbing Sarah-necked,
Upon that sea of weeping.
Like the declining blood-orange sun
We will set course for that land of wonders
Where none may follow.
For, as every Irish school-child knows,
There is a magic realm, far to the west,
Where our hearts and dreams can be made whole again.
Can you hear my call from that dry and burning land,
So many,many miles away?
Do not cry my love but know that I, for one,
Would walk through flame and thorn
To hear your answer.