Tir na n'og, the island,

Called, the land of youth,

An eye's leap and a half day's pull

Across the sea -

Who takes my hand to go

To Tir na n'og?

In the land of youth the blossomy trees

Leaf all the year;

The round dark pools

Have lifted up their faces to the sky

More years than all man's years together.

Beauty of mind, of body, soul,

Is never lost in Tir na n'og.

Who takes my hand. to go?

Men never die in Tir na n'og,

But wander the winding road.

And find on every side the sea.

Tall girls let down their hair

And bare their feet to the golden dust

And the cool sweet flowers of heather,

And live forever there

In the land of youth.

No coming back from Tir na n'og,

Once we have beached in the shining sand.

There is no return to the checkered fields,

The sunlit roofs, the kind, "God save ye - "

Of the Connemara men -

Who takes my hand to go

To Tir na n'Og, the island,

Called the land of youth?