Where Lagan streams sing lullabies, there blows a lily fair.
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The twilight gleam is in her eye, the night is on her hair.
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And like a lovesick lenashee, she hath my heart in thrall.
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No life have I, no liberty, for love is Lord of all.
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And sometimes when the beetles horn has lulled the eve to sleep,
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I steal into her sheiling lorn and through the doorway creep.
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There on the cricket's singing stone, she spares the bogwood fire
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And hums in sad sweet and undertone the song of hearts desire.
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<°£ΑΦΑί>
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Her welcome, like her love for me, is from her heart within
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Her warm kiss is felicity that knows no taint of sin.
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My Lagan Love
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| The Corrs |
