When these eyes, long dimmed with weeping, In the silent dust are sleeping; When above my narrow bed The breeze shall wave the thistle's head —
Thou wilt think of me, love! When the queen of beams and showers Comes to dress the earth with flowers; When the days are long and bright,
And the moon shines all the night — Thou wilt think of me, love! When the tender corn is springing, And the merry thrush is singing;
When the swallows come and go, On light wings flitting to and fro — Thou wilt think of me, love! When laughing childhood learns by rote
The cuckoo's oft-repeated note; When the meads are fresh and green, And the hawthorn buds are seen — Thou wilt think of me, love!
When‘ neath April's rainbow skies Violets ope their purple eyes; When mossy bank and verdant mound Sweet knots of primroses have crowned —
Thou wilt think of me, love! When the meadows glitter white, Like a sheet of silver light; When blue bells gay and cowslips bloom,
Sweet-scented brier, and golden broom — Thou wilt think of me, love! Each bud shall be to thee a token Of a fond heart reft and broken;
And the month of joy and gladness Shall but fill thy soul with sadness — And thou wilt sigh for me, love! When thou rov'st the woodland bowers,
Thou shalt cull spring's sweetest flowers, And shalt strew with bitter weeping The lonely bed where I am sleeping — And sadly mourn for me, love!
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