meet thy lips, so true, Soon may be bring their death and chill; Love, though our
grass that stores the morn-ing dew
blood must lose its pass-ion, still,
O Love, Know well, that this fond heart of mine,
Still, Love, Know well, that this heart is di-vine,
It shall be al-ways, al-ways, al-ways thine!
It shall be al-ways, al-ways, al-ways thine!