O, Genevieve I’d give the world
To live again the lovely past!
The rose of youth was dew-impearled;
But now it withers in the blast.
I see thy face in ev’ry dream,
My walking thoughts are full of thee;
Thy glance is in the starry beam
That falls along the Summer sea.
O, Genevieve, sweet Genevieve,
The days may come, the days may go,
But still the hands of mem’ry weave
The blissful dreams of long ago.
Fair Genevieve, my early love,
The years but make thee dearer far!
My heart shall never, never rove:
Thou art my only guiding star.
For me the past has no regret
What e’er the years may bring to me;
I bless the hour when first we met,
The hour that gave me love and thee!
... O, Genevieve!