When we were children, long ago, And crept to bed at close of day, With backward glance and footstep slow, Though all aweary with our play, Do you remember how the room -...
There's a thing we love to think of when the summer days are long, And the summer winds are blowing, and the summer sun is strong, When the orchards and the meadows throw their fragrance on the air,...
A red rose in my lady's hair, A white rose in her fingers, A wild bird singing low, somewhere, A song that pulses, lingers. The sound of dancing and of mirth, The fiddle's merry chiming,...