A Flower of the First

WHAT is that? It’s only a rosebud;

’Twas caught as I marched from camp,

As red as the red of her heart’s blood—

Tears made its petals so damp.

Who threw it? I can guess the maiden;

What matters her name to you?

For with love that flower is laden;

It says: “Eyes of blue—be true!”

Did she speak? Not a word, just tossed it.

I’d seen her the night before—

It fell, and she thought I’d lost it;

And cried, for she had no more.

To press it? Never mind—don’t chaff me;

Love weighs some flowers with dew;

Ah, sweet, red blossom, with tears we

Whisper: “Eyes of brown—be true!”