Mary, when the wild-rose
Blossomed on the vine,
Hearts were light, eyes were bright,
But none so bright as thine.

Lightly the month of May,
Sweet bud of June,
Opened like a rose in gray,
Under the moon.

When the heart of summer
Withered with rust,
Bitter blows laid the rose
Broken in the dust.

Crystal wells, amber wells,
On the hills of blue,
Chiming like silver bells
When the heart is true,

Boom with the billows
On the black shore;
Sweetness to bitterness
Forevermore.

Sweetly the waters ran,
(Wild rose for thee);
The fountains of the heart of man
Are bitter like the sea.