To smile on it or over-weep it
When she and spring are far away.
Ah me! I needs must droop my head,
And brush away a happy tear,
For they are gone, and, dry and dead,
The rose-bud lies before me here.
Yet is it in no stranger’s hand,
For I will guard it tenderly,
And it shall be a magic wand
To bring mine own true love to me.