The Three Flowers
Traditional

One day when walking down a lane as night was drawing nigh

I met a colleen with three flowers and she more young than I.

"Saint Patrick bless you, dear," said I, "if you be quick and tell

The place where you did find those flowers - I seem to know them well."

She took and kissed the first flower once and sweetly said to me

"This flower I found in Wicklow hills, dew wet and pure", said she.

"Its name is Michael Dwyer - he's the bravest of them all

And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall"

She took and kissed the next flower twice and sweetly said to me

"This flower I found in Antrim fields outside Belfast", said she.

"The name I gave it is Wolfe Tone - the bravest flower of all

And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall"

She took and kissed the next flower trice and sweetly said to me

"This flower I found in Thomas Street, in Dublin fair", said she.

"Its name is Robert Emmet - the youngest of them all

And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall"

"Then Emmet, Dwyer and Tone I'll keep, for I do love them all

And I'll keep them fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall"