I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say.
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer,
When all the things he loves are far away.

And precious things are dreams unto an exile,
They take him o'er the land across the sea,
Especi'lly when it happens he's an exile,
From that dear lovely Isle of Innisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops,
Of this great city, wondrous tho' it be,
I scarsely feel its wonder or its laughter
I'm once again back home in Innisfree.

I wander o'er green hills thro' dreamy valleys,
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels,
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.

And then into a humble shack I wander,
My dear old home and tenderly be-hold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered
On bended knees their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last, tho' dreams are not forgotten,
And soon I'm back to stern reality,
But tho' they paved the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Innsfree.

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