I stuck ’em in this Good Ol’ Book
Long ’fore they drooped an’ died,
An’ here each day they’ve smiled at me
When I have only cried.
I touch ’em—an’ I touch her hand
That put ’em here in mine!
I see ’em—an’ I see her lips
More temptin’er ’an wine.
’T’s a sorto’ played-out ol’ bouquet,
Ol’-fashion’ roses too;