I hear a bird, Londonderry bird,
It well may be he's bringing me a cheering word.
I hear a breeze, a River Shanon breeze,
It well may be it's followed me across the seas.
Then tell me please:

How are things in Glocca Morra?
Is that little brook still leaping there?
Does it still run down to Donny Cove?
Through Killybegs, Kilkerry and Kildare?

How are things in Glocca Mora?
Is that willow tree still weeping there?
Does that laddie with the twinklin' eye
Come smilin' by and does he walk away,

Sad and dreamy there, not to see me there?
So I ask each weepin' willow and each brook along the way,
And each lad that comes a-whistlin' "Too ra lay"
How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day?

The mist of May is in the gloaming
And all the clouds are holding still
So take my hand and let's go roamin'
Through the heather on the hill

The mornin' dew is blinkin' yonder.
There's lazy music in the rill,
And all I want to do is wander
Through the heather on the hill.

There may be other days as rich and rare.
There may be other springs as full and fair.
But they won't be the same, they'll come and go
Well this I must know:

How are things in Glocca Morra?
Is that laddie callin' "Too ra lay"
Will we meet in Glocca Morra?
Some fine day
Some fine day

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Burton Lane, Edgar Yipsel Harburg