MY OWN SWEETHEART MARY.
Copyright, 1893, by Frank Harding.
Words and Music by Anthony J. Gray.
One summer morn, when dewy flowers displayed their fairest smile,
Sweet Mary forsook her happy bower to frolic forth awhile;
She turned her steps to a silver stream that rippled down the glade,
And there along in verdant brim the rushing water played.
Mary, Mary, my own sweetheart Mary,
How dainty is her sweet young face,
How soft her nut-brown hair;
Her love is like a golden dream;
They say she is a fairy queen;
The only one I truly love is my own sweetheart Mary.
High o'er her head the willows flung their gold stems out so fair,
And many a robin red-breast sang their love-songs in the air;
She listened to each soft, sweet note, and each bird did adore,
And, as if jealous of the birds, the waters sang some more. - Chorus.
Sweet Mary turned her footsteps from the ever-dancing tide:
She plucked wild water flowers that grew along the streamlet's side,
And as she reached her happy bower, where naught but joy she brings.
Each sweet, tho' wild but fragrant flower, in love's own language sings. - Cho.