  When these eyes, long dimmed with weeping, In the silent dust are sleeping; When above my narrow bed The breeze shall wave the thistle's head— Thou wilt think of me, love! When the queen of beams and showers Comes to dress the earth with flowers; When the days are long and bright, And the moon shines all the night— Thou wilt think of me, love! When the tender corn is springing, And the merry thrush is singing; When the swallows come and go, On light wings flitting to and fro— Thou wilt think of me, love! When laughing childhood learns by rote The cuckoo's oft-repeated note; When the meads are fresh and green, And the hawthorn buds are seen— Thou wilt think of me, love! When 'neath April's rainbow skies Violets ope their purple eyes; When mossy bank and verdant mound Sweet knots of primroses have crowned— Thou wilt think of me, love! When the meadows glitter white, Like a sheet of silver light; When blue bells gay and cowslips bloom, Sweet-scented brier, and golden broom— Thou wilt think of me, love! Each bud shall be to thee a token Of a fond heart reft and broken; And the month of joy and gladness Shall but fill thy soul with sadness— And thou wilt sigh for me, love! When thou rov'st the woodland bowers, Thou shalt cull spring's sweetest flowers, And shalt strew with bitter weeping The lonely bed where I am sleeping— And sadly mourn for me, love!
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