O LADY MINESong

"O Lady mine!" one day I cried,"Pray make for me a posy,That I may think when from your sideOn your young mouth so rosy.""Nay, gentle sir," the damsel said,"The blossoms I deny you,But take my willing lips instead,If they will satisfy you!"And then she kissed me where I stood,And may the saints defend her—Ne'er grew a flower in field or woodOne half so sweet and tender.

"O Lady mine!" one day I cried,"Pray make for me a posy,That I may think when from your sideOn your young mouth so rosy."

"O Lady mine!" one day I cried,

"Pray make for me a posy,

That I may think when from your side

On your young mouth so rosy."

"Nay, gentle sir," the damsel said,"The blossoms I deny you,But take my willing lips instead,If they will satisfy you!"

"Nay, gentle sir," the damsel said,

"The blossoms I deny you,

But take my willing lips instead,

If they will satisfy you!"

And then she kissed me where I stood,And may the saints defend her—Ne'er grew a flower in field or woodOne half so sweet and tender.

And then she kissed me where I stood,

And may the saints defend her—

Ne'er grew a flower in field or wood

One half so sweet and tender.

Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going?"Over the roses into the sky."Butterfly, butterfly, there is no knowingWhen you'll come back again, so good-bye!Butterfly, butterfly, summer is glowing,But with the winter you too must die,And your frail soul will be gently blowingUpward to God on a rose's sigh.Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!

Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going?"Over the roses into the sky."Butterfly, butterfly, there is no knowingWhen you'll come back again, so good-bye!

Butterfly, butterfly, where are you going?

"Over the roses into the sky."

Butterfly, butterfly, there is no knowing

When you'll come back again, so good-bye!

Butterfly, butterfly, summer is glowing,But with the winter you too must die,And your frail soul will be gently blowingUpward to God on a rose's sigh.Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!

Butterfly, butterfly, summer is glowing,

But with the winter you too must die,

And your frail soul will be gently blowing

Upward to God on a rose's sigh.

Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!

Our little love is newly born,And shall I say good-bye?For if I go, perchance ere dawnOur little love will die!I'd better stay and help it grow,Since it is yours and mine,Until this little love we knowBecomes a love divine.

Our little love is newly born,And shall I say good-bye?For if I go, perchance ere dawnOur little love will die!

Our little love is newly born,

And shall I say good-bye?

For if I go, perchance ere dawn

Our little love will die!

I'd better stay and help it grow,Since it is yours and mine,Until this little love we knowBecomes a love divine.

I'd better stay and help it grow,

Since it is yours and mine,

Until this little love we know

Becomes a love divine.

The wind has shaken the lilac trees,And scattered their purple bloom,The wind has harassed the honey bees,And robbed the flowers of their melodies,The wind has gathered a host of clouds,And smitten the earth with gloom.The wind has blown out the golden lightsThat hang from laburnum boughs,Till nude and stripped of their past delightsThe branches sigh through the stormy nights,Like nuns who weep for their buried youth,And murmur their mournful vows.The wind has covered the hills with mist,And hidden my favourite view,The wind has torn at my garden bedsWhere sad young roses have hung their heads,And ah! the pity, that one slim stemIs withered, and snapped right through.The wind has driven the birds afar,The starling who reared her youngAbove the door in the empty cotHas flown away, and to-day there's notA single twitter from hungry throats,One minstrel, of all who sung.The wind has stolen the warmth of June,So how shall I pass my time?I'll go indoors with my pen and book,Beside the fire seek a cosy nook,Then when I'm sure that he can't get in,I'll write of his sins in rhyme!

The wind has shaken the lilac trees,

And scattered their purple bloom,

The wind has harassed the honey bees,

And robbed the flowers of their melodies,

The wind has gathered a host of clouds,

And smitten the earth with gloom.

The wind has blown out the golden lightsThat hang from laburnum boughs,Till nude and stripped of their past delightsThe branches sigh through the stormy nights,Like nuns who weep for their buried youth,And murmur their mournful vows.

The wind has blown out the golden lights

That hang from laburnum boughs,

Till nude and stripped of their past delights

The branches sigh through the stormy nights,

Like nuns who weep for their buried youth,

And murmur their mournful vows.

The wind has covered the hills with mist,And hidden my favourite view,The wind has torn at my garden bedsWhere sad young roses have hung their heads,And ah! the pity, that one slim stemIs withered, and snapped right through.

The wind has covered the hills with mist,

And hidden my favourite view,

The wind has torn at my garden beds

Where sad young roses have hung their heads,

And ah! the pity, that one slim stem

Is withered, and snapped right through.

The wind has driven the birds afar,The starling who reared her youngAbove the door in the empty cotHas flown away, and to-day there's notA single twitter from hungry throats,One minstrel, of all who sung.

The wind has driven the birds afar,

The starling who reared her young

Above the door in the empty cot

Has flown away, and to-day there's not

A single twitter from hungry throats,

One minstrel, of all who sung.

The wind has stolen the warmth of June,So how shall I pass my time?I'll go indoors with my pen and book,Beside the fire seek a cosy nook,Then when I'm sure that he can't get in,I'll write of his sins in rhyme!

The wind has stolen the warmth of June,

So how shall I pass my time?

I'll go indoors with my pen and book,

Beside the fire seek a cosy nook,

Then when I'm sure that he can't get in,

I'll write of his sins in rhyme!

I saw a row of hollyhocks,Demure and stately-tall,They peep'd above a hedge of box,Like maidens in brocaded frocks,Who nodded one and all.Some dress'd in pink, and some in white,And some in purple blue,They seemed abrim with gay delight,To beckon shyly, and inviteThe passer-by to view.A mottled thrush cast bold black eyesUpon this fair array,He swell'd his little throat with sighs,And tender notes of glad surpriseHe sang in wistful lay.But ne'er a stately head was turnedTowards his lonely tree,Altho' with ardent words he burned,Those dainty maids for whom he yearn'dHad only smiles for me.

I saw a row of hollyhocks,Demure and stately-tall,They peep'd above a hedge of box,Like maidens in brocaded frocks,Who nodded one and all.

I saw a row of hollyhocks,

Demure and stately-tall,

They peep'd above a hedge of box,

Like maidens in brocaded frocks,

Who nodded one and all.

Some dress'd in pink, and some in white,And some in purple blue,They seemed abrim with gay delight,To beckon shyly, and inviteThe passer-by to view.

Some dress'd in pink, and some in white,

And some in purple blue,

They seemed abrim with gay delight,

To beckon shyly, and invite

The passer-by to view.

A mottled thrush cast bold black eyesUpon this fair array,He swell'd his little throat with sighs,And tender notes of glad surpriseHe sang in wistful lay.

A mottled thrush cast bold black eyes

Upon this fair array,

He swell'd his little throat with sighs,

And tender notes of glad surprise

He sang in wistful lay.

But ne'er a stately head was turnedTowards his lonely tree,Altho' with ardent words he burned,Those dainty maids for whom he yearn'dHad only smiles for me.

But ne'er a stately head was turned

Towards his lonely tree,

Altho' with ardent words he burned,

Those dainty maids for whom he yearn'd

Had only smiles for me.

Oh! why is the world as it is, we ask,With tears in our voice, and a sigh:For nothing remains but an unfinished task,While beauty is only hypocrisy's mask,The end of it all—but to die.Believe me, the world is a place full of joy,And happiness stretches afar:Alas! that the workings of man should destroyThe meaning of God, with the deeds they employ,Oh! why areweall as we are?

Oh! why is the world as it is, we ask,With tears in our voice, and a sigh:For nothing remains but an unfinished task,While beauty is only hypocrisy's mask,The end of it all—but to die.

Oh! why is the world as it is, we ask,

With tears in our voice, and a sigh:

For nothing remains but an unfinished task,

While beauty is only hypocrisy's mask,

The end of it all—but to die.

Believe me, the world is a place full of joy,And happiness stretches afar:Alas! that the workings of man should destroyThe meaning of God, with the deeds they employ,Oh! why areweall as we are?

Believe me, the world is a place full of joy,

And happiness stretches afar:

Alas! that the workings of man should destroy

The meaning of God, with the deeds they employ,

Oh! why areweall as we are?

Alone upon the little path that ledAlong the mountain-side towards the sunI pondered o'er those passions that are dead,I counted all your kisses one by one;I spoke aloud the memory of each wordMy heart had heard.The scent of pines was heavy in the noon,The air most happy with the song of streams,Above the forest hung an early moon,But I was gazing at my perished dreams,And in that moment, while my soul was brave,I dug their grave.I folded each within a golden shroud,Torn from the shining garments of my youth,I did not weep, but very gently bowedMy aching spirit to the yoke of truth,Then in the stillness of the fading dayI knelt to pray.

Alone upon the little path that led

Along the mountain-side towards the sun

I pondered o'er those passions that are dead,

I counted all your kisses one by one;

I spoke aloud the memory of each word

My heart had heard.

The scent of pines was heavy in the noon,The air most happy with the song of streams,Above the forest hung an early moon,But I was gazing at my perished dreams,And in that moment, while my soul was brave,I dug their grave.

The scent of pines was heavy in the noon,

The air most happy with the song of streams,

Above the forest hung an early moon,

But I was gazing at my perished dreams,

And in that moment, while my soul was brave,

I dug their grave.

I folded each within a golden shroud,Torn from the shining garments of my youth,I did not weep, but very gently bowedMy aching spirit to the yoke of truth,Then in the stillness of the fading dayI knelt to pray.

I folded each within a golden shroud,

Torn from the shining garments of my youth,

I did not weep, but very gently bowed

My aching spirit to the yoke of truth,

Then in the stillness of the fading day

I knelt to pray.

Go, cold white pearls, with your luring eyes,The woman is waiting who longs to winBut the rainbow light that within you lies,But the soft cool touch of your satin skin.You are undefiled, and the price of sinHas passed you by, what the heart deniesCan your whiteness, fettered and bound withinThis necklet's space, ever realise?You were snatched away from the deep, sad sea,From the Mother's womb to the miser's pile;You are bartered now for a phantasy,For the hopeless hope in a woman's smile.

Go, cold white pearls, with your luring eyes,

The woman is waiting who longs to win

But the rainbow light that within you lies,

But the soft cool touch of your satin skin.

You are undefiled, and the price of sin

Has passed you by, what the heart denies

Can your whiteness, fettered and bound within

This necklet's space, ever realise?

You were snatched away from the deep, sad sea,

From the Mother's womb to the miser's pile;

You are bartered now for a phantasy,

For the hopeless hope in a woman's smile.

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