Memories

My love he went to Burdon Fair,
And of all the gifts that he saw there
Was none could his great love declare;
So he brought me marjoram smelling rare —
Its sweetness filled all the air.
Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette!

My love he sail'd across the sea,
And all to make a home for me.
Oh, sweet his last kiss on the lea,
The pansies pluck'd beneath the tree,
When he said, "My love, I'll send for thee!"
Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette!

His mother sought for me anon;
So long my name she would not own.
Ah, gladly would she now atone,
For we together make our moan!
She brought the mignonette I've sown.
Oh, the days I dote on yet,
Marjoram, pansies, mignonette!