Gathering Flowers From The Hillside
Written by A. P. Carter




I've been gathering flowers from the hillside,
To wreath around your brow,
But you've kept me a-waitin' so long, dear,
That 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,
Have gone from me forever more.

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