Samuel Woodworth

THEY sing of blue-eyed Mary,

Who gathered flowers to sell,

But there’s a sweeter fairy

In Harlem’s flowery dell;

Whose violets, pinks, and roses,

Display a richer bloom,

’Twere bliss to gain such posies,

And taste their rich perfume.

The violet’s softest azure

Is swimming in her eye;

The rose’s vermeil treasure

On either cheek we spy;

The fragrant pink’s carnation,

Its nectar and perfume,

In sweetest combination

Have dress’d her lips in bloom.

And she has learned to cherish

A never-fading flower;

When pinks and roses perish

’Twill still adorn her bower;

Its tints will never vary,

Its fragrance ne’er depart,

’Twill always bloom with Mary,

’Tis planted in her heart.