One time when walking down a lane as night was drawing nigh,
I met a colleen with three flowers and she more young than I,
"St. Patrick bless you dear," I said, "If you'll be quick to tell,
The place where you did find those flowers, I seem to know so well."

She took and kissed the first flower once and sweetly said to me,
"This flower comes from the Wicklow hills, dew wet and pure," said she,
"Its name is Michael Dwyer, the strongest flower of all,
And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall."

She took and kissed the next flower twice and sweetly said to me,
"This flower I call in Antrim's hills outside Belfast," said she,
"And the name I call it is Wolfe Tone, the bravest flower of all,
And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall."

She took and kissed the next flower thrice and softly said to me,
"This flower I found in Thomas Street in Dublin fair," said she,
"It's name is Robert Emmet, the youngest flower of all,
And I'll keep it fresh beside my breast, though all the world should fall."

One time when walking down a lane as night was drawing nigh,
I met a colleen with three flowers and she more young than I,
"Then Emmet, Dwyer and Tone I'll keep, for I do love them all,
And I'll keep them fresh beside my breast though all the world should fall,
I'll keep them fresh beside my breast though all the world should fall.".