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When The First Summer Bee. (German Air.)
By Thomas Moore
When the first summer bee
O'er the young rose shall hover,
Then, like that gay rover,
I'll come to thee.
He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim--
What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him!
When the first summer bee, etc.
Then, to every bright tree
In the garden he'll wander;
While I, oh, much fonder,
Will stay with thee.
In search of new sweetness thro' thousands he'll run,
While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.
Then, to every bright tree, etc.
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