Classic Poem

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 search'd among the dew, sir;—
These fragrant flowers, these tender stalks,
I've pluck'd 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 sadden'd hours,
Is the sweet little girl that bound them.