W. G. Rothery
In Derry vale, beside the singing river,|
so oft I strayed, ah, many years ago,
and culled at morn the golden daffodillies
that came with spring to set the world aglow.
Oh, Derry vale, my thoughts are ever turning
to your broad stream and fairycircled lea,
for your green isles my exiled heart is yearning,
so far away across the sea.
In Derry vale, amid the Foyle's dark waters,
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