THERE are grottos in Wicklow, and groves in
Kildare,
And the loveliest glens robed with shamrock in
Clare,
And in fairy Killarney ’tis easy to find
Sweet retreats where a swain can unburden his
mind;
But of all the dear spots in our emerald isle,
Where verdure and sunshine crown life with a
smile,
There’s one boreen I love, for ’twas there I
confess
I first met my fate, — what it was you can guess.
It was under the shade of its bordering trees,
One day I grew suddenly weak at the knees
At the thought of what seemed quite a terrible
task,
And yet it was but a short question to ask.
’Twas over, and since, night and morning, I
bless
The boreen that heard the soft whisper of “yes.”
And the breezes that toyed with each clustering tress;
And the question was this— but I’m sure you
can guess.
Arthur M. Forrester
Ireland's Lore and Tales 