There’s a dear little plant that grows in our Isle,
'Twas Saint Patrick himself sure that set it;
And the sun on his labour with pleasure did smile,
And with dew from his eye often wet it.
It thrives thro’ the bog, thro’ the brake, thro’ the mireland;
And he called it the dear little shamrock of Ireland.
― The Dear Little Shamrock, by Wm. Shield.

Text
Photo
Quote
Link
Chat
Audio
Video