When Irish eyes are dying
Breath chills till time is over,
Death pulls slowly graveward
To rest 'neath sod and clover...
Ireland... Sweet Erin...The Emerald Isle. In the bright and bonnie light of day, it is a place of beauty, history, and good humor. Of rolling green hills and stone walls at every step of a mile. A kind blessing for health and happiness, and a pint in your hand at the village pub... as well as the sound of fife and...