I've been gathering flowers from the hillside
to wreath around your brow,
but you've kept me a-waitin' so long, dear,
the flowers have all withered now.
I know that you have seen trouble,
but never hang down your head,
your love for me is like the flowers,
your love for me is dead.
It was on one bright June morning,
the roses were in bloom,
I shot and killed my darling,
and what will be my doom?
Closed eyes cannot see these roses,
closed hands cannot hold them, you know,
and these lips that still cannot kiss me
has gone from me forever more.