Oh, those happy, happy days gone by, Emma,
Their memory is ever dear to me;
Oh, those old golden, glorious days, Emma,
When I played 'mong the flowers with thee.
Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma,
When life seemed only a song,
Holding neither a sorrow nor tear, Emma,
As we played 'mong the flowers all day long.
We gathered the mosses and ferns, Emma,
The cowslips and violets so blue,
And the crab-apple blossoms so sweet, Emma,
And the sweet, mellow May-apple, too.