TO THE “BOUQUET CLUB”
O Rosebud garland of girls! Who ask for a song from me, To what sweet air shall I set my lay? What shall its key-note be? The flowers have gone from wood and hill; The rippling river lies white and still; And the birds that sang on the maple bough, Afar in the South are singing now!
O Rosebud garland of girls! If the whole glad year were May; If winds sang low in the clustering leaves, And roses bloomed alway; If youth were all that there is of life; If the years brought nothing of care or strife, Nor ever a cloud to the ether blue, It were easy to sing a song for you!
Yet, O my garland of girls! Is there nothing better than May? The golden glow of the harvest time! The rest of the Autumn day! This thought I give to you all to keep: Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life’s latest sands are its sands of gold!