The barley grass was two feet high, the billabongs were full,
The brolgas danced a minuet, the world seemed made of wool,
The nights were never wearisome, the days were never slow,
When first I went to Irish Lords, on the road to Ivanhoe.

The frost was on the barley grass as we passed the homestead rails,
A darling jkss piped us in, with his turns and trills and scales,
Youth and health and happiness, sat on the saddle bow,
And Mary lived at Irish Lords, on the road to Ivanhoe.

And everywhere was happiness, the fates were fair and kind,
We drank the very wine of life, we never looked behind,
And Mary, Mary everywhere, was flitting to and fro,
When first we went to Irish Lords, on the road to Ivanhoe.

The window on a leafy byre, where the golden banksia grew,
Stared like a dead man's glassy eye, for the roof had fallen through,
No flowers in her garden-bed, and her voice stilled long ago,
When last I went to Irish Lords, on the road to Ivanhoe.