Tell Your Love Where The Roses Blow, And The Hearts Of The Lilies Quiver, Not In The City'S Gleam And Glow, But Down By A Half-Sunned River. Not In The Crowded Ball-Room'S Glare, That Would Be Fatal, Marie, Marie, How Can She Answer You Then And There? So Come Then And Stroll With Me, My Dear, Down Where The Birds Call, Marie, Marie.