Susan Down the Lane

Oh! happy memories, what are ye
But welcome flowers of spring;
The thoughts o' love, and melody,
Your early visits bring.
I've sung o' maids, and called them flowers;
And so I will again,—
The sweetest o' the summer hours,
Was with Susan down the lane.

She's like the hedge rose, white and red,
Where spring and summer meet:—
The violets by the woodland shed,
No flower can be more sweet.
Its eye is dew drop's, silver grey,
Or blebs of sunny rain.—
Yet dearer than these flowers of May,
Is Susan down the lane.

How sweet the summer flowers appear,
In many a secret place:
But still the fairest of the year,
Is Susan's bonny face:
The wild-hedge-rose, is fair and sweet,
In a summers shower of rain—
But the sweetest flower I e're could meet
Was Susan down the lane.

Those happy memories summer hours,
Those violets of the wood;
That hedge of sweet-briar, hung with showers;
That by her cottage stood,
Than sweet briar hedge, or summer showers,
There's one as sweet again:
The fairest flower on meads, or bowers,
Is Susan down the lane.
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