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A SPRING LOVE-SONG.
Or the brook to tinkle at the call of spring,
But you, dear heart, are ever true.
Let the silver mingle with your curls of gold,
Let the years grow dreary and the world wax old,
But the love I bear for you will ne'er grow cold,—
I love you, darling, only you!
But you, dear heart, are ever true.
Let the silver mingle with your curls of gold,
Let the years grow dreary and the world wax old,
But the love I bear for you will ne'er grow cold,—
I love you, darling, only you!
