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.