Shamrock Poems

Table of Contents

1. The Little Shamrock

   by William Yancey Erwin

   
   

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   The golden harp again we bring,
   On this Saint Patrick's day;
   Though old the theme, the song we sing
   We'll put in this new way.
   

   God bless our sons for Jesus' sake,
   Where'er they chance to roam;
   May they a sprig of shamrock take,
   And kiss the Blarney Stone.
   

   God bless our lovely daughters, too,
   Who dwell in foreign lands;
   And may they ever keep in view
   For what the Shamrock stands.
   

   If hearts are tender, lips as sweet,
   As those who stay at home,
   They'll learn in youth to be discreet
   Without the Blarney Stone.
   

2. The Shamrock

   by Maurice Francis Egan

   
   

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   When April rains make flowers bloom
   And Johnny-jump-ups come to light,
   And clouds of color and perfume
   Float from the orchards pink and white,
   I see my shamrock in the rain,
   An emerald spray with raindrops set,
   Like jewels on Spring's coronet,
   So fair, and yet it breathes of pain.
   

   The shamrock on an older shore
   Sprang from a rich and sacred soil
   Where saint and hero lived of yore,
   And where their sons in sorrow toil;
   And here, transplanted, it to me
   Seems weeping for the soil it left
   The diamonds that all others see
   Are tears drawn from its heart bereft.
   

   When April rain makes flowers grow,
   And sparkles on their tiny buds
   That in June nights will over-blow
   And fill the world with scented floods,
   The lonely shamrock in our land—
   So fine among the clover leaves—
   For the old springtime often grieves—
   I feel its tears upon my hand.
   

3. The Little Shamrock

   by David McCarthy

   
   

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   Oh, emblem of that dear old land
   Of chivalry and lore,
   Imported from thy native sod,
   To Columbia's distant shore;
   I now behold your triple leaf.
   Just fresh as I have seen
   In the verdant vales of Kerry,
   In my native isle of green.
   

   On board the ill-fated Oregon,
   Sunk beneath a tidal wave,
   The Shamrock's little slender roots
   Had touch'd a watery grave;
   But, the plant St. Patrick used
   To teach his holy creed,
   Was destined not to perish there—
   From danger hence was freed.
   

   In clusters now, the shipwreck'd sprig
   Is growing in mellow clay,
   Transplanted there by willing hands
   Lest the emblem would decay;
   Ah! may the one who cared it well
   Received full meed of praise;
   She work'd with faith and diligence
   Her shamrock dear to raise.
   

   On next St. Patrick's Day we'll have
   An Irish shamrock green,
   Raised in this land of Washington,
   We'll always love, I ween;
   And with the American Stars and Stripes
   And the flag of Erin's Isle,
   To martial music we'll keep step
   And march in double file.
   

4. A Bit of Shamrock

   by Mary Davis Reed

   
   

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   Only a bit of shamrock from far off Emerald Isles;
   But it carries my lonely heart o'er the many miles;
   And in fancy takes me back again across the years
   Until with tender longing my eyes fill up with tears.
   

   Once more I see my mother, as in the days of yore,
   Busy with her knitting by the little cottage door;
   And dad with his pipe of clay, and cheery Irish smile,
   Resting from his labors on the weather-beaten stile.
   

   I can see my sweetheart, with her eyes of Irish blue;
   Her glances quite coquettish; her heart quite warm and true.
   There's not another like her—she is so sweet and fair;
   And I love my colleen with a love beyond compare.
   

   I've been in many countries, and roamed through many climes,
   But naught can bring such yearnings as thoughts of olden times.
   And days of care-free youth in that land across the foam,
   Spent with the ones I love, in that County Kerry home.
   

   So it's back again I'll sail, within the next few days;
   I'll revel in the home-town with its quaint Irish ways.
   May angels guard my parents and little colleen sweet,
   And keep them safe from harm 'till on Erin's shores we meet.
   

5. A Bit O' Shamrock

   by Jean Blewett

   
   

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   We met her on the hillside green
   Below old Castle Blarney;
   Her name, she whispered, was Eileen,
   Her home it was Killarney.
   

   I see her yet, her Irish eyes
   Blue gray as seas in summer,
   And hear her welcome, on this wise,
   Vouchsafed to each new-comer:
   

   "I'll guide ye up the stairway steep,
   And naught will ye be missing
   O' battlement or donjon keep,
   Or blarney stone for kissing.
   

   "The tower that was McCarthy's pride,
   The scene o' battles thrilling,
   And where the Desmond kept his bride—
   Me fee is but a shilling.
   

   "Here's for ye, now, a keepsake charm"—
   Her low tones grow caressing—
   "A bit o' shamrock green and warm,
   To bring ye luck and blessing."
   

   The "keepsake charm"—I have it yet—
   A thing of guile and blarney;
   Each green leaf dares me to forget
   Fair Eileen o' Killarney.
   

6. Saint Patrick and the Shamrock

   by Phoebe A. Naylor

   
   

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   When the Saint returned to Ireland,
   With his helpers, her to aid,
   Druids looked with scornful anger
   At the Saint so unafraid,
   As he told men of the Godhead—
   Three in one and one in Three.
   Three in person, one in Godhead,
   How could such a Being be?
   

   Stood the high born Maiden Fedelm,
   Daughter of the high king, she
   With companions now before him
   Questioning that mystery
   Vainly Patrick tried to show them
   But they could not understand.
   As the fields were green with Shamrocks
   One he took up in his hand.
   

   Showed them how the trefoil Shamrock
   Had three leaves upon one stem;
   And their pagan eyes were opened
   Till the truth was plain to them!
   So his followers wore the shamrock
   Reverencing the saint, who there
   Traveled end to end of Ireland
   Building churches everywhere.
   

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