With the Dreams of May
by Frank Lebby Stanton

You know that the time is weary,
And the wild ways deep in gloom
But still there’s a garden dearie,
Where the rarest roses bloom.

And out of the garden we’ll reap someday
The rose sweetheart with the dreams of May,
The rose sweetheart with the dreams of May.

We shall see the wild doves flying over the violet ways
And life’s goodnight is dying
Shall greet the morning’s rays.
In a beautiful garden we’ll reap someday,
The rose sweetheart from the dreams of May,
The rose sweetheart from the dreams of May.