Dearest, let these roses
In their purity,
Be a present symbol
Of my love for thee.
Underneath the blossom
Thorns are sure to grow;
Take heed lest you touch them,
They would pain you so!
Ah! my faults like thorns are,
But cannot they be
Hidden 'neath the flower
Of my love for thee?
-
-
Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken-
The love my dying lips shall speak.Our little ones are making merry
O'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,
But in these words (though awkward-very)
The genuine article's expressed.You are as fair and sweet and tender,
...