A Fair Rose Of Duhallow

In her late teens and so attractive and all things about her so sweet
And she looked as fresh as the Spring wildflowers that bloom in the fields of Millstreet
She seemed unaware of her beauty and unpolluted by conceit
But when she left her Townland in Duhallow her I was never more to meet.

She left the old Valley forever and her I did not see again
But she has not aged in my memory as young as she was then she remain
With shoulder length hair as brown as the ripened chestnut and eyes as blue as the ripened sloe
I last saw her I do remember some forty one Summers ago.

The years leave us all looking older and age on us quickly does grow
And if by chance now I did meet her the chances are her I'd not know
And she surely would not recognize me as time leaves it's mark on us all
For like the wildflowers of the Summer we fade to the winds of the Fall.

One might say I knew her in passing though young in my memory she stay
And doubtless I would not recognize her did I happen to meet her to day
She was a fair rose of Duhallow who sought the adventurous life
And I wonder did she mother children and become some lucky man's wife?