'Gold of butterflies, gold of bees,
Gold of ragweeds and golden seas;
Gold on gorses for kissing's sake,
Which of these will you touch and take,
Moirín, Moirín?'
'Golden butterfly's not for me,
I'll ha' none o' the golden bee:
My heart of gold shall not beat or break,
Though I love the gorses for kissing's sake,
Mother, Mother!'
'Then rest you merry, through heat and cold,
Sweet lips of cherry, sweet heart of gold;
Yet Gold-Heart surely shall come some day
To cry for gray wings to fly away,
Moirín, Moirín!'