From The Birmingham Age Herald, August 14, 1913. By Eugene Field.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
Bespeak the birth of spring;
Come sweetheart, be my sweetheart
And wear this posy ring.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
In the golden summer glow
Of the earth aflush with the gracious blush
Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart
As into the noon we go.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When falls the bounteous year,
When the fruit and wine of tree and vine
Give us their harvest cheer;
O sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
For winter, it draweth near.
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When the year is white and old,
When the fire of youth is spent, forsooth,
And the hand of age is cold;
Yet, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
‘Till the year of our love be told.
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