WHEN night's deep shadows darkly fall,
The moon breaks thro' the sombre thrall,
And then beneath her silver shawl,
I see the face of Mary.
And as I wander lonely here,
I lift my eyes to yon bright sphere,
And, joyous, know she shines as clear
To my dear winsome Mary.
Here as I stand beneath the trees,
Thro' which blows soft the evening breeze,
From life's clay house my spirit flees
In search of bonnie Mary.
Bright moon that shines so softly fair,
Bear swift my rapturous thoughts to where
Thy beams fall on the nut-brown hair
Of gentle winsome Mary.
Fair moon upon thy throne of blue,
Thy robe thy beams, thy gems the dew,
No orb of night can vie with you —
No cailín with my Mary.