[Through composed]
Walking in her garden,
Dearest of flowers was she;
Pure and sweet as the lillies,
dearer than life to me.

Just a budding blossom,
Who with God's love was sent,
Seemed to me like an angel,
As gath'ring flow'rs she went.

First she gathered roses,
Pink roses glist'ning with dew,
Then she gathered marguerites,
Asking them if they knew

If her lover loved her,
And if his love were true,
And if he e'er should deceive her,
What could her broken heart do?

Then the dainty petals,
Told her the story of old,
Till she came to the last one,
left in the heart of gold.

"He loves me, he loves me not,
loves me,"
That's what the sweet flow'rs told.