Published by S, T. Gordon, 538 Broadway.
You ask what makes this darkie weep,
Why he like others am not gay;
What makes the tear flow down his cheek,
From early morn’ till close of day.
My story darkies you shall hear,
For in my memory fresh it dwells,
’Twill cause you all to drop a tear,
On the grave of my sweet Kitty Wells.
While the birds were singing in the morning,
And the myrtle and the ivy were in bloom,
And the sun on the hill was a dawning,
It was then we laid her in the tomb.
I never shall forget the day,
That we together roamed the dells;
I kissed her cheek and named the day,
That I should marry Kitty Wells.
But death came in my cabin door,
And took from me my joy my pride,
And when I found she was no more,
Then I laid my banjo down and cried.
I often wish that I was dead,
And laid beside her in the temb.
The sorrow that bows down my head,
Is silent in the midnight gloom.
The spring time has no charms for me,
Though flowers are blooming in the dells.
For that bright form I do not see,
’Tis the form of my sweet Kitty Wells