Isle of Inisfree - Celtic Woman

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 -- 
Especially when it happens he’s an exile, 
From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree. 

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops, 
Of this great city, wondrous though it be, 
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter... 
I’m once again back home in Inisfree. 

I wander o’er green hills through dreamy valleys, 
And find a peace no other land would 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 behold, 
The folks I love around the turf fire, gathered. 
On bended knees, their rosary is told. 

But dreams don’t last -- 
Though dreams are not forgotten -- 
And soon I’m back to stern reality. 
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust, 
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.