Thomas Haynes Bayly


Surely ‘t is better, when summer is over
To die when all fair things are fading away.

Those that have wealth must be watchful and wary,
Power, alas! naught but misery brings!

I 'd be a Butterfly.

Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.

Welcome me Home.

Why don’t the men propose, Mamma?
Why don’t the men propose?

She wore a wreath of roses
The first night that we met.

She wore a Wreath.

Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.

Teach me to forget.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Long, long ago.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The Rose that all are praising.

Oh pilot, ‘t is a fearful night!
There’s danger on the deep.

The Pilot

Absence makes the heart grow fonder:
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Isle of Beauty.