IN the first light of the morning, When the thrush sang loud and clear, And the black-bird hailed day's dawning, How I wished my love could hear. When the sun shone on the sand there, And the roses bloomed above, And the blue waves kissed the land there, How I longed to see my love. Now the birds good-night are calling, And the moonbeams come and go, And my tears are falling, falling, Because I want him so. |