I 'LL pull a bunch of buds and flowers,
And tie a ribbon round them,
If you'll but think, in your lonely hours,
Of the sweet little girl that bound them.
I 'll cull the earliest that put forth,
And those that last the longest;
And the bud, that boasts the fairest birth,
Shall cling to the stem that's strongest.
I've run about the garden walks,
And searched among the dew, Sir;—
These fragrant flowers, these tender stalks,
I've plucked them all for you, Sir.
So here's your bunch of buds and flowers,
And here's the ribbon round them;
And here, to cheer your saddened hours,
Is the sweet little girl that bound them.