Towards the red setting sun, across the blue sea,
Lies an Emerald Isle called Inisfree.
By the grey wind-torn crags and green grassy sods
Is the very last bastion of the old, ancient gods.
Through mists of time, at the height of the feast
The gods gave the warlords a wondrous beast.
So tall and proud stood this noble hound
That the revellers silenced and uttered no sound.
Then the fairies and elves crept out to behold
The Gift from the Gods, more precious than gold.
In one magic moment, a new breed was born,
Then Jack-o'-the-Green came and blew on his horn.
From behind a bush, by a small waterfall,
Came a tiny white horse, just six inches tall,
Trotted out to the hound - and you know what is more?
Gave homage to his glory by kissing his paw.
You say "'Tis not true", don't believe what I say?
Yet the great Irish wolfhounds are still here today!
And the picture of Warwick in the forest is plain
When the tiny white horse came and did it again!