The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee: There is a rose that's ready; And which of the handsome young men shall it be? There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
My daughter, come hither, come hither to me: There is a rose that's ready; Come, point me your finger on him that you see: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, it never can be: There is a rose that's ready; For I shall bring shame on the man marries me: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Now let your tongue be deep as the sea: There is a rose that's ready; And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Tall Margaret wept bitterly: There is a rose that's ready; And as her parent bade did she: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee: There is a rose that's ready; Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me! There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, this thing I must say: There is a rose in the garden; Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay: And the bird sings over the roses.
Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men: There is a rose in the garden; You marry them blindfold, I tell you again: And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when he kisses me! There is a rose in the garden; My child,‘ tis which shall sweetest be! And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when I awake in the morn! There is a rose in the garden; My child, you are his, and the ring is worn: And the bird sings over the roses.
Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress: There is a rose in the garden; Poor comfort she had of her comeliness And the bird sings over the roses.
My mother will sink if this thing be said: There is a rose in the garden; That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed; And the bird sings over the roses.
He died on my shoulder the third cold night: There is a rose in the garden; I dragged his body all through the moonlight: And the bird sings over the roses.
But when I came by my father's door: There is a rose in the garden; I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor: And the bird sings over the roses.
O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell: There is a rose in the garden; Could I follow the lover I loved so well! And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart: There is a rose that's ready; Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
The frill of her nightgown below the left breast: There is a rose that's ready; Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
But where the West-cloud breaks to a star: There is a rose that's ready; Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O few are the brides with such a sign! There is a rose that's ready; Though I went mad the fault was mine: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I must speak to him under this roof to-night: There is a rose that's ready; I shall burn to death if I speak in the light: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound: There is a rose that's ready; Than when I scored you red and swooned: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I will stab my honour under his eye: There is a rose that's ready; Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie: There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you! There is a rose that's ready; Had he chosen among you he might sleep too! There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean: There is a rose that's ready; You carry no mark of what has been! There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
An hour before the chilly beam: Red rose and white in the garden; The bridegroom started out of a dream: And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and there espied: Red rose and white in the garden; The figure of his silent bride: And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and let her in: Red rose and white in the garden; Whiter looked she than a child of sin: And the bird sings over the roses.
She looked so white, she looked so sweet: Red rose and white in the garden; She looked so pure he fell at her feet: And the bird sings over the roses.
He fell at her feet with love and awe: Red rose and white in the garden; A stainless body of light he saw: And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret, say you are not of the dead! Red rose and white in the garden; My bride! by the angels at night are you led? And the bird sings over the roses.
I am not led by the angels about: Red rose and white in the garden; But I have a devil within to let out: And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret! my bride and saint! Red rose and white in the garden; There is on you no earthly taint: And the bird sings over the roses.
I am no saint, and no bride can I be: Red rose and while in the garden; Until I have opened my bosom to thee: And the bird sings over the roses.
To catch at her heart she laid one hand: Red rose and white in the garden; She told the tale where she did stand: And the bird sings over the roses.
She stood before him pale and tall: Red rose and white in the garden; Her eyes between his, she told him all: And the bird sings over the roses.
She saw how her body grow freckled and foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.
With never a quiver her mouth did speak: Red rose and white in the garden; O when she had done she stood so meek! And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom stamped and called her vile: Red rose and white in the garden; He did but waken a little smile: And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom raged and called her foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.
He muttered a name full bitter and sore: Red rose and white in the garden; She fell in a lump on the still dead floor: And the bird sings over the roses.
O great was the wonder, and loud the wail: Red rose and white in the garden; When through the household flew the tale: And the bird sings over the roses.
The old grey mother she dressed the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; With a shivering chin and never a tear: And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you but done as I bade you, my child! Red rose and white in the garden; You would not have died and been reviled: And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; He eyed the white girl thro’ a dazzling tear: And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you been false as the women who stray: Red rose and white in the garden; You would not be now with the Angels of Day! And the bird sings over the roses.
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