 | Morning Glories : |  |
THE BLACK ELM.
Beneath the black Elm's verdant shade,
That girds the hill and dell and glade,
In sweet September days we strayed,
A country lass and I.
That girds the hill and dell and glade,
In sweet September days we strayed,
A country lass and I.
Where golden rod and bird and bee,
Were in their rustic beauty free,
We cut our names upon a tree,
My country love and I.
Were in their rustic beauty free,
We cut our names upon a tree,
My country love and I.
100
The crystal brooklet glides along.
With gentle flow and mirthful song,
And silver pebbled sands among,
It's waters sparkling glow.
With gentle flow and mirthful song,
And silver pebbled sands among,
It's waters sparkling glow.
The daisies nod their pretty heads,
The oak leaves amber are and red,
The blue bells spent, lie prone and dead,
Upon the dying grass.
The oak leaves amber are and red,
The blue bells spent, lie prone and dead,
Upon the dying grass.
Sweet September's golden day,
Feign would departing summer stay,
But fleeting moments haste away,
And thou must follow on.
Feign would departing summer stay,
But fleeting moments haste away,
And thou must follow on.
| Morning Glories : | |