She wore a wreath of roses the night that first we met,
Her lovely face was smiling beneath her curls of jet;
Her footsteps had the lightness, her voice the joyous tone,
The tokens of a youthful heart where sorrow is unknown;
I saw her but a moment, yet me thinks I see her now
With the wreath of summer flowers upon her snowy brow:

A wreath of orange blossoms when next we met, she wore;
The expression of her features was more thoughtful than before;
And standing by her side was one who strove and not in vain
To soothe her, leaving that dear home she ne'er might view again;
I saw her but a moment yet me thinks I see her now 
With the wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow.

And once again I see that brow no bridal wreath is there,
The widow's somber cap conceals her once luxuriant hair;
She weeps in silent solitude, and there is no one near
To press her hands within his own and wipe away the tear;
I see her broken hearted! Yet me thinks I see her now,
In the pride of youth and beauty, with a garland on her brow.