Thomas Haynes Bayly

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content read more

Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth,
And make use of your wings while you may.
. . . .
But tho' dreams of delight may have dazzled you quite,
They at last found it dangerous play;
Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth,
Only dazzle to lead us astray.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.

I've now got the music book ready,
Do sit up and sing like a lady
A recitative read more

I've now got the music book ready,
Do sit up and sing like a lady
A recitative from Tancredi,
And something from "Palpiti!"
Sing forte when first you begin it,
Piano the very next minute,
They'll cry "What expression there's in it!"
Don't sing English ballads to me!

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.