I gave to love the fairest rose

That in my garden grew;

And still my heart its fragrance knows—

Does he remember, too?

He laid his dreams upon my day,

His kisses on my mouth,

I woke, to find him flown away

With summer to the south.

Love’s vagrant step once more to greet,

My garden blooms in vain;

The roses of the south are sweet—

Love will not come again!

The roses of the south are sweet—

Love will not come again!