This verse melts my Heart as it makes me think of my Grandfather for some reason. Strange what Imagery a Song bring to our minds:)

At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deludhering lies
On the heart of the nut-brown Rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Though with rust my plow turns brown,
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the Star of the County Down.

By the way it worked For William Doyle, my Grandfather. He married his nut brown Rose:)

Lovely Thread Jerry, as usual. Thank You
J