The warm blushing berries with lips of my fair;
I'm doubtful, indeed, if the fruit of the South
Could equal the charm of her ripe little mouth—
'Tis so round and so soft, 'twould be scarcely a crime
All my doubts to dispel in sweet strawberry time!
Light, light is the laughter that carelessly rings,
And sweet is the carol she tenderly sings!
I murmur a story we all of us know—
Her soft dainty dimples, they come and they go;
Her eyelids droop down o'er those sweet little eyes,