Down in my Sally's garden,
Upon an ivy bush,
At morning and at twilight,
There sings a sweet song thrush.
His notes come clearly ringing,
And tidings to me tell,
And oh, l know already
My Sally loves me well.
l kissed her milk-white features
One silv'ry eve of May;
She whispered, "Won't you wander
Until the close of day?"
| We wandered in her garden,
The flowers were wet with dew,
I saw the love-light beaming
In her fond eyes of blue.
Down in my Sally's garden,
Where snowy hawthorns blow,
My heart became love-weary
When I at last must go.
The bloom was on the hawthorn
That night l said farewell;
l left my SaIIy weeping
Down by an ivied dell.
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