The Dark Little Rose

IRELAND     When shall we find the spring come in,     And the fragrant air it blows?     And when shall the bounty of summer win     Fairer than fields of Camolin     For the dark little Rose?     Long was the winter, the storms how long!     What flower may live i' the snows!     No bloom shall last under heels of wrong,     If the heart-blood be not deathless strong,     As the dark little Rose.     Sing hers the culture sweeter than rain     That healed old Europe's woes;     Older than bowers of Lille and Louvain     Grew by the Rhine and the towns of Spain     From the dark little Rose.     Leagues in the sunlight never shall fail     While the broad, round ocean flows;     Though never a fleet goes up Kinsale,     See, all the world is within the pale     Of the dark little Rose.