Come Into the Garden, Maud

The Music Sent To Any Address, On Receipt Of 35 Cents, By Henry J Wehman, 50 Chatham Street, New York.

Come Into the Garden, Maud.

Come into the garden, Maud,
For, the black bat, night, has flown;
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here, at the gate, alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown,
For a breeze of the morning moves,
And the planet of love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light she loves,
On a bed of daffodill sky;
To faint in the light of the sun that she loves,
To faint in the light and to die.
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here, at the gate, alone;
I am here at the gate, alone;
I am here at the gate, alone.

Queen of the rosebud, garden of girls,
Come hither the dances are done;
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen, lily, and rose, in one;
Shine out. Little head, running over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun,
Shine out, shine out, and be their sun!
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown;
She is coming, my own, my sweet—
Were it ever so airy a thread,
My heart would hear it, and beat,
Were it earth in an earthly bed.
Come, my own, my sweet, come, my own Maud,
I am here, at the gate, alone.

H. J. Wehman, Song Publisher, 50 Chatham St., N. Y.

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