Freston
55
The zephyrs low murmured to soothe thee to rest,
And the birds sang thy praise from each leaf-shadowed nest.
Thou hast left all their bloom for the North and its snows,
And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair Southern rose.
Our bonny white rose! our true-hearted rose!
And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair Southern rose.
And the birds sang thy praise from each leaf-shadowed nest.
Thou hast left all their bloom for the North and its snows,
And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair Southern rose.
Our bonny white rose! our true-hearted rose!
And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair Southern rose.
