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SONG.
TO MISS * * * *.
Air: “To ladies’ eyes a round, boy.”
he winds of March are humming
Their parting song, their parting song,
And summer skies are coming,
And days grow long, and days grow long.
I watch, but not in gladness,
Our garden-tree, our garden-tree;
It buds, in sober sadness,
Too soon for me, too soon for me.
My second winter’s over,
Alas! and I, alas! and I
Have no accepted lover:
Don’t ask me why, don’t ask me why.
’Tis not asleep or idle
That Love has been, that Love has been;
For many a happy bridal
The year has seen, the year has seen;
I’ve done a bridemaid’s duty,
At three or four, at three or four;
My best bouquet had beauty,
Its donor more, its donor more.
