Classic Poem

O' I love the young and english Rose
That grows upon the hedge row brier
It seems the fairest flower that blows
And still reminds me O my dear
It reminds me O' her bonny brow
When she spoke her mind to me
Her cheeks were red her bosom snow
And I loved my Sally Gee.

The winds took pleasure o'er the grass
And in the flowers to dally
And sweet the feet O' my fair lass
There's none like pretty Sally
Green Linnets sung on the white thorn
And black caps on the willow tree
But the sweetest thing O' night or morn
Is my own sweet Sally Gee.

O Sally Gee is beautiful
And Sally Gee is fair
Her cheeks are roses which we cull
In mornings dewy air
Her bosom is as white as snow
And whiter it may be
And the sweetest and dear rose below
Is my own sweet Sally Gee.