(F. Weatherly, H. Wood)

[Recorded June 13, 1962, Los Angeles]



She is watching by the poplars,

Colinette with the sea-blue eyes,

She is watching and longing, and waiting

Where the long white roadway lies,

And a song stirs in the silence,

As the wind in the boughs above,

She listens and starts and trembles,

'Tis the first little song of love.



Roses are shining in Picardy,

In the hush of the silver dew,

Roses are flow'ring in Picardy,

But there's never a rose like you!

And the roses will die with the summertime,

And our roads may be far apart,

But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy,

'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart



And the years fly on forever,

Till the shadows veil their skies,

But he loves to hold her little hands,

And look into her sea-blue eyes,

And she sees the road by the poplars,

Where they met in the bygone years,

For the first little song of the roses,

Is the last little song she hears:



Roses are shining in Picardy,

In the hush of the silver dew,

Roses are flow'ring in Picardy,

But there's never a rose like you!

And the roses will die with the summertime,

And our roads may be far apart,

But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy,

'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart