Author: Thomas L. Moore
As I walk the road from Killashandra, weary I sit down.
For it's twelve long miles around the lake to get to Cavan town.
Though Oughter and the road I go once seemed beyond compare.
Now I curse the time it takes to reach my Cavan girl so fair.
The autumn shades are on the leaves, the trees will soon be bare,
Each red-gold leaf around me seems the colour of her hair.
My gaze retreats to find my feet and once again I sigh,
For the broken pools of sky remind the colour of her eye.
At the Cavan Cross each Sunday morning there she can be found,
And she seems to have the eye of every boy in Cavan town.
If my luck will hold I'll have the golden summer of her smile,
And to break the hearts of Cavan men, she'll talk to me a while.
So next Sunday evening finds me homeward - Killashandra bound,
To work the week, till I return and court in Cavan town.
When asked if she would be my bride at least she'd not said "no",
So next Sunday morning, rouse myself, and back to her I'll go.