The daisies

In the scented bud of the morning -- O,

When the windy grass went rippling far,

I saw my dear one walking slow,

In the field where the daises are.

We did not laugh and we did not speak

As we wandered happily to and fro;

I kissed my dear on either cheek,

In the bud of the morning -- O!

A lark sang up from the breezy land,

A lark sang down from a cloud afar,

As she and I went hand in hand

In the field where the daisies are.