Queen of women, oh come away,
Come to my kingdom strange to see;
Where tresses flow with a golden glow,
And white as snow is the fair body.

Under the arching of ebon brows,
Eyes of azure the soul enthral,
And a speech of songs to the mouth belongs,
And sorrowful sighing shall ne'er befall.

Bright are the blooms of Innisfail,
Green her forests wave in the west:
But brighter flowers and greener bower;
Shall all be ours in that country bles.

Can her streams compare to the runnel; rare
Of yellow honey and rosy wine
That softly slip to the longing lip
With magic flow through that land of mine?

We roam the earth in its grief and mirth,
But move unseen of all therein,
For before their gaze there hangs a haze,
The heavy haze of their mortal sin.

But our age wastes not, our beauty tastes not
Evil's apple nor droops nor dies;
Death slays us never, but love for ever
With stainless ardour illumes our eyes.

Then, queen of women, oh come away,
Come and sit on my fairy throne,
In a realm of rest with spirits blest,
Where sin and sorrow are all unknown.