| |
| OH see how thick the goldcup flowers | |
| Are lying in field and lane, | |
| With dandelions to tell the hours | |
| That never are told again. | |
| Oh may I squire you round the meads | 5 |
| And pick you posies gay? | |
| —’Twill do no harm to take my arm. | |
| ’You may, young man, you may.’ | |
| |
| Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad, | |
| ’Tis now the blood runs gold, | 10 |
| And man and maid had best be glad | |
| Before the world is old. | |
| What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow, | |
| But never as good as new. | |
| —Suppose I wound my arm right round— | 15 |
| ‘’Tis true, young man, ’tis true.’ | |
| |
| Some lads there are, ’tis shame to say, | |
| That only court to thieve, | |
| And once they bear the bloom away | |
| ’Tis little enough they leave. | 20 |
| Then keep your heart for men like me | |
| And safe from trustless chaps. | |
| My love is true and all for you. | |
| ‘Perhaps, young man, perhaps.’ | |
| |
| Oh, look in my eyes then, can you doubt? | 25 |
| —Why, ’tis a mile from town. | |
| How green the grass is all about! | |
| We might as well sit down. | |
| —Ah, life, what is it but a flower? | |
| Why must true lovers sigh? | 30 |
| Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,— | |
| ‘Good-bye, young man, good-bye.’ | |
| |
