Mario Lanza My Wild Irish Rose
My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows. You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose. My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows, And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
They may sing of their roses, which by other names, Would smell just as sweetly, they say. But I know that my Rose would never consent To have that sweet name taken away. Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by The bower where my true love grows, And my one wish has been that some day I may win The heart of my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows. You may search everywhere, but none can compare with my wild Irish Rose. My wild Irish Rose, the dearest flower that grows, And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
