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English melodies

By Charles Swain

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34

I'VE GROWN SO NERVOUS LATELY.

I've grown so nervous lately,
When seated in my bower;
I never hear my love pass by
But quick I drop a flower!
The rose I found this morning,
All dewy, fresh, and sweet,
Before I could prevent it,
Had fallen at his feet!
He stoop'd, and then entwin'd it,
And I was much afraid,
And begg'd him not to mind it,
But still he stay'd—and stay'd!
Until my mother call'd so,
He could but bid Adieu;
He took away my rose, though,
I wonder if he knew?