A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
     All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—
     One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
     “My fragile leaves,” it said, “his heart enclose.”
Love long has taken for his amulet
     One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
     One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
     One perfect rose.

A string of shiny days we had, 
     A spotless sky, a yellow sun; 
And neither you nor I was sad
     When that was through and done. 

But when, one day, a boy comes by 
   And pleads me with your happiest vow, 
“There was a lad I knew—” I'll sigh; 
   “I do not know him now.”

And when another girl shall pass
   And speak a little name I said, 
Then you will say “There was a lass—
   I wonder is she dead.”

And each of us will sigh, and start 
   A-talking of a faded year, 
And lay a hand above a heart, 
   And dry a pretty tear.