Mary Bayfield

How beautiful the summer night

When birds roost on the mossy tree,

When moon and stars are shining bright

And home has gone the weary bee!

Then Mary Bayfield seeks the glen,

The white hawthorn and grey oak tree,

And nought but heaven can tell me then

How dear thy beauty is to me.

Dear is the dewdrop to the flower,

The old wall to the weary bee,

And silence to the evening hour,

And ivy to the stooping tree.

Dearer than these, than all beside,

Than blossoms to the moss-rose tree,

The maid who wanders by my side--

Sweet Mary Bayfield is to me.

Sweet is the moonlight on the tree,

The stars above the glassy lake,

That from the bottom look at me

Through shadows of the crimping brake.

Such are sweet things--but sweeter still

Than these and all beside I see

The maid whose look my heart can thrill,

My Mary Bayfield's look to me.

O Mary with the dark brown hair,

The rosy cheek, the beaming eye,

I would thy shade were ever near;

Then would I never grieve or sigh.

I love thee, Mary dearly love--

There's nought so fair on earth I see,

There's nought so dear in heaven above,

As Mary Bayfield is to me.