In a room not of gloom
I will greet my sweet,
And our hands will clasp
And our lips will meet.

With the tick of a clock
Will our kisses grow
Till they’re passing time
With the overflow.

And the room not of gloom
Will be bright as May
When the flowers sweet
In the breezes play.

Yet the winds we’ll hear
Will be whispers low,
Saying, “Oh, my dear,
How I love you so.”

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