24
Oh wherefore are the roses wan,
Oh say, my Love, wherefore?
And wherefore the green grass upon
Blue violets breathe no more?
Oh wherefore sings the lark o'erhead
A song of such despair?
And why are death-like odours shed
From fragrant lavender?
Why gleams the sun so coldly bright
Upon the saddened lea?
The mournful earth in gray is dight,
'Tis like a grave to me.
Oh wherefore am I so sick and so drear,
Oh say, my Love, my own;
Oh say, my dearest, my heart's own dear,
Wherefore hast thou left me lone?
Oh say, my Love, wherefore?
And wherefore the green grass upon
Blue violets breathe no more?
Oh wherefore sings the lark o'erhead
A song of such despair?
And why are death-like odours shed
From fragrant lavender?
Why gleams the sun so coldly bright
Upon the saddened lea?
The mournful earth in gray is dight,
'Tis like a grave to me.
Oh wherefore am I so sick and so drear,
Oh say, my Love, my own;
Oh say, my dearest, my heart's own dear,
Wherefore hast thou left me lone?
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