The Three Flowers

One time when walking down a lane
As night was drawing nigh
I met a colleen with three flowers
And she more young than I
“Saint Patrick bless you dear” said I
“If you will kindly tell
The place where you did find these flowers
I seem to know so well”

She took a flower and kissed it once
And softly said to me
“This flower I found in Thomas Street
In Dublin fair”, said she
“Its name is Robert Emmet
It’s the youngest flower of all
And I’ll keep it fresh beside my breast
Though all the world should fall”

She took and kissed the next flower twice
And softly said to me
“This flower comes from the Antrim hills
outside Belfast”, said she
“The name I call it is Wolfe Tone
The bravest flower of all
And I’ll keep it fresh beside my breast
Though all the world should fall”

She took and kissed the next flower thrice
And gently said to me
“This flower comes from the Wicklow hills
Its name is Dwyer”, said she
“And Emmet, Tone and Dwyer I’ll keep
For I do love them all
And I’ll keep them fresh beside my breast
Though all the world should fall”

So Emmet, Tone and Dwyer I’ll keep
As I do love them all
And I’ll keep them fresh beside my breast
Though all the world should fall