In a far distant clime I have left a sweet rose

In a far distant clime I have left a sweet rose,

A blossom unfolding its exquisite ray,

More lovely than morning it timidly glows,

And fairer its blush than the rich bloom of May.

I fear that another, enamored, may view it,

May steal it away from its fond parent stem;

That, in absence, some fortunate lover may woo it,

And I sigh when I think of the beautiful gem.

To the shade where the flowret is destined to flourish,

On the wing of affection I'll hastily fly;

For what is there sweeter than fondly to nourish

What is dear to the heart, what is fair to the eye.

O leave not thy bower, sweet rose, till I come!

Hope whispers thy blooms I again shall survey;

My bosom, believe me, was formed for thy home;

O leave not thy bower, till it bears thee away.