Lasse of the Island

In early spring when the snows all melt, in the grace of place where your father dwelt…

Lasse of the Island

In the early spring when begins the bloom, 
when clearing stop presents the moon,
when the fog weaves the the sodden pass,
and houses feed on fresh meadow grass,

I will bring my banjo, my smile and
play to the lasse of the island.

In early spring when the snows all melt,
in the grace of place where your father dwelt,
when you wear your dress and pain your toes
and the  bouquets fill with the Irish rose,

I will bring my banjo, my smile and
play to the lasse of the island.