MY love he went to Burdon Fair, And of all the gifts that he saw there Was none could his great love declare; So he brought me marjoram smelling rare -- Its sweetness filled all the air. Oh, the days I dote on yet, Marjoram, pansies, mignonette! My love he sail'd across the sea, And all to make a home for me. Oh, sweet his last kiss on the lea, The pansies pluck'd beneath the tree, When he said, "My love, I'll send for thee!" Oh, the days I dote on yet, Marjoram, pansies, mignonette! His mother sought for me anon; So long my name she would not own. Ah, gladly would she now atone, For we together make our moan! She brought the mignonette I've sown. Oh, the days I dote on yet, Marjoram, pansies, mignonette! |