My sweet little rose is not at home!”
When I came to see her upon the Thursday
I did not find my girl at home.
So I thought I was lost—I would not get her.
When I came to see her upon the Friday
She was weeding still in the garden bed.
“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,
My rosy cheeks is not at home.”
Saturday came and found me calling.
When the door was opened they told me this: