  The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! The summer-time comes, and the summer-time goes— And never a blossom in all of the land As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand! The long winter months, and the glare of the snows; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! And never a glimmer of sun in the skies As bright as the light of her glorious eyes! Dreams only are true; but they fade and are gone— For her face is not here when I waken at dawn; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose Mine only; hers only the dream and repose. I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, Moaning over the one only song that it knows,— |
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