Piled on a dish of gold
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
And I hold within my hand
O! that the rosebud that graces yon islands,
Poor Laura could not hear;
Its bounce was music to her ear.
But there came none:
She cried "Laura," up the garden,
Give me back my silver penny
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Piled on a dish of gold
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
And I hold within my hand
O! that the rosebud that graces yon islands,
Poor Laura could not hear;
Its bounce was music to her ear.
But there came none:
She cried "Laura," up the garden,
Give me back my silver penny
Eat me, drink me, love me;