Henry Tucker, 1869
Oh Genevieve, I'd give the world|
To live again the lovely past!
The rose of youth was dew-impearled
But now it withers in the blast.
Oh Genevieve, sweet Genevieve,
The days may come, the days may go
But still the hands of mem'ry weave
The blissful dreams of long ago
2. I see thy face in ev'ry dream,
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