Song. I will weave for thee a wreath, love

I will weave for thee a wreath, love,
Of roses bright and fair;
I will breathe for thee a sigh, love,
As I twine it mid thy hair.
Thy cheek is softly blushing, love,
The rose has tinged thy brow,
The sigh has it revealed, love,
All I may not avow?
Ah! pardon the presumption, love,
Of one who owns thy spell;
I may not linger near thee, love,
Farewell!—sweet maid—farewell!