Lyrics

The sleeping boats lay still at dawn
They lean and list and will not rise
Too late to catch the morning tide
That flees Kinvara’s rocky shores

The golden butter-sun ascends
To break the spell of chill and mist
And warm the rock-strewn fields and bog
From Galway up to Kylemore

And though I leave this lovely isle
My heart will race on every shore
When I recall that once I stood
Too near the windswept Cliffs of Moher