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No. 6 - Song - Crewe Boodle - "Thou art my rose."
| Crewe Boodle: | In the hush of silver morning, In a garden sweet and fair, A lovely rose is blooming, Queen of the roses there. And she trembles, and starts, and listens, And lifts her head above, For a bird on the bough is singing, And all the song is love. Dearest, I need not tell thee All that thy dear heart knows, I am the bird that singeth, And thou my list'ning rose. But as the bird is singing, The veil of mist is drawn, And out of the silver shadows Riseth the golden dawn. The sunlight enters the garden, Flooding the greenways dim, And the rose looks up and blushes, And opens her heart to him. Dearest, I need not tell thee All that thy dear heart knows, I am the happy sunlight, And thou the opening rose. And night steals into the garden, With soft and shadowy wings, With his songs and dreams and visions Of sweet unspoken things. And the birds song falls to silence, And tenderly fades the light, The rose has sunk to slumber On the loving breast of night. Ah! come to me, my dearest, And find thine heart's repose, I am the night that loves thee, And thou my slumb'ring rose, I am the night that loves thee, And thou my slumb'ring rose! |
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Page modified 23 November 2016