As I came down from the hill of Aileach,
When spring sang in the air,
I heard the silken voice of summer
Call from the cold earth there.
As I came down from the hill of Aileach,
I heard low laughter sweet.
There I came on a fair young maiden
Dancing on snow-pale feet.
Oh, white she was as the mist of morning,
All lovely in her glee.
Oh, glad she was as the mating thrushes
Trilling on greenwood tree.
‘What hope can laugh through the long years grieving,
What joy that cannot die,
What secret sings to your feet in dancing?’
I cried as she passed by.

On her smiling mouth she laid her finger
And left me lone behind,
As she went up the dark hill of Aileach
Where the spring sang in the wind.
Oh, glad she was whom I once thought weary.
Young—and I thought youth gone.
As she went up the green hill of Aileach,
Kathleen ni-Houlihan.