That buff was little Charlie's,
And the pink and white and grey
Were Alice's, ere her last farewell
Rent part of my life away.
And this brown with snowy blossoms
Was Aunt Ruth's Sunday best,—
Dear heart, she grew so weary
She was glad to seek her rest.
And the pink and white and grey
Were Alice's, ere her last farewell
Rent part of my life away.
And this brown with snowy blossoms
Was Aunt Ruth's Sunday best,—
Dear heart, she grew so weary
She was glad to seek her rest.
There is so much I might tell you
Of beauty that you cannot see,
For after all 'tis the love of the loved
That gives it its worth to me.
For love is a great enricher,
And treasures we highest prize
Would seem to be utterly worthless
If viewed through others' eyes.
Of beauty that you cannot see,
For after all 'tis the love of the loved
That gives it its worth to me.
For love is a great enricher,
And treasures we highest prize
Would seem to be utterly worthless
If viewed through others' eyes.
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