Upon the silver beeches moss
Was drawing quaint designs,
And the first dim-eyed violets
Were greeting the March winds.
'T was night - the fire of hickory wood
Burned warm, and bright, and high -
And we were in the Sugar Camp,
Sweet Nelly Grey and I.

'T was merry, though the willows yet
Had not a tassel on;
The blue birds sung that year, I know,
Before the snow was gone.
Through bunches of stiff, frosty grass
The brooks went tinkling by;
We heard them in the Sugar Camp,
Sweet Nelly Grey and I.

Broken and thin the shadows lay
Along the moonlit hill,
For like the wings of chrysalids
The leaves were folded still.
And so, betwixt the times we heaped
The hickory wood so high,
When we were in the Sugar Camp,
Sweet Nelly Grey and I,

I said I loved her - said I'd make
A cabin by the stream,
And we would live among the birds -
It was a pretty dream!
I could not see the next year's snow
Upon her bosom lie -
When we were in the Sugar Camp,
Sweet Nelly Grey and I.