^GThe winter it is ^Empast and the ^Csummers come at l^Dast And the birds they are ^Bmsinging ^Amin the ^Dtrees Their ^Clittle hearts are ^Gglad but ^Ammine is very ^Dsad For my tr^Gue love is ^Amfar away from ^Dme.

The rose upon the brier, by the water running clear Gives joy to the linnet and the bee Their little hearts are blessed but mine is not at rest For my true love is absent from me.

And its ^Cstraight I will re^Gpair to the ^AmCurragh of ^DKildare For its ^Gthere Ill find ^Amtidings of my ^Ddear.

All you that are in love and cannot it remove I pity the pains you endure, For experience let me know, that your hearts are full of woe And a woe that no mortal can endure. And its straight I will repair to the Curragh of Kildare For its there Ill find tidings of my dear. Straight I will repair to the Curragh of Kildare For its there Ill find tidings of my dear.

Christy Moore - The curragh of kildare