How can the small flowers grow—
If the wild winds blow and the cold snow is all around?
Where will the frail birds fly—
If their homes on high have been torn down to the ground?
Lift the wings that carry me away from here, and—
Fill the sail that breaks the line to home
When I'm miles and miles apart from you
I'm beside you, and I think of you
A stóirin, a grá
How can a tree stand tall
If the rain won't fall to wash its branches down?
How can the heart survive?
Can it stay alive if its love's denied for long?
Lift the wings that carry me away from here, and—
Fill the sail that breaks the line to home
When I'm miles and miles apart from you—
I'm beside you, and I think of you, a stóirin
And I'm with you as I dream of you, a stóirín
And the song will bring you near to me, a stóirin
A grá