Song The Fallen Leaves By Margaret Steele Anderson

The Bride, She Wears A White, White Rose, The Plucking, It Was Mine; The Poet Wears A Laurel Wreath, And I The Laurel Twine; And Oh, The Child, Your Little Child, That's Clinging Close To You, It Laughs To Wear My Violets, They Are So Sweet And Blue! And I, I Have A Wreath To Wear, Ah, Never Rue Nor Thorn! I Sometimes Think That Bitter Wreath Could Be More Sweetly Worn! For Mine Is Made Of Ghostly Bloom, Of What I Can't Forget The Fallen Leaves Of Other Crowns, Rose, Laurel, Violet!