The pale moon was rising above the green mountain,
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The sun was declining beneath the blue sea;
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When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
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That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.
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She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
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Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
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Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
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That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
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|
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The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading
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And Mary all smiling sat listening to me;
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The moon through the valley her pale rays were shining
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When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
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She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
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Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
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Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
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That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
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On the far fields of India, mid war's bloody thunder,
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Her voice was a solace and comfort to me,
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But the cold hand of death has now torn us asunder
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I'm lonely tonight for my Rose of Tralee.
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She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
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Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;
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Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
|
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
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The Rose of Tralee
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| John McDermott |
