IT seems to me St. Patrick's Day By every rule should come in May Instead of when the March winds blow And buds still sleep beneath the snow; For then the fields would all be seen A-wearing of the emerald green Just like the flag so green and gay They carry on St. Patrick's Day; And all the night the wind would play Soft Irish croonings through the, trees, Like some sad harp that far away Sighs in that isle beyond the seas; And so it seems St. Patrick's Day By every rule should come in May Instead of when the March winds blow, And blossoms sleep beneath the snow. |