| Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
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| From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
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| The summer’s gone and all the flow’rs falling;
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| 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
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| But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
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| Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
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| And I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow;
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| Oh, Danny Boy, oh, Danny Boy, I love you so!
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| But if you come, and all the flow’rs are dying
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| And I am dead, as dead I may well be
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| You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
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| And kneel and say an Ave there for me
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| And I will*hear, though soft you tread above me;
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| And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be
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| And you will bend and tell me that you love me
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| And I will sleep in peace until you come to me |