Charles Ives - Marie
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Marie, I see thee fairest one
As in a garden fair
Before thee flowers and blossoms play
Tossed by soft evening air
The pilgrim passing on his way
Bows low before thy shrine;
Thou art, my child, like one sweet prayer
So good, so fair, so pure almost divine
How sweetly now the flowrets raise
Their eyes to thy dear glance;
The fairest flower on which I gaze
Is thy dear countenance
The evening bells are greeting thee
With sweetest melody
O may no storm e'еr crush thy flowers
Or break thy heart, Mariе!
As in a garden fair
Before thee flowers and blossoms play
Tossed by soft evening air
The pilgrim passing on his way
Bows low before thy shrine;
Thou art, my child, like one sweet prayer
So good, so fair, so pure almost divine
How sweetly now the flowrets raise
Their eyes to thy dear glance;
The fairest flower on which I gaze
Is thy dear countenance
The evening bells are greeting thee
With sweetest melody
O may no storm e'еr crush thy flowers
Or break thy heart, Mariе!
