Good-By, Little Girl, Good-By.

Good-By, Little Girl, Good-By.
480.3

The sound of the bugle is calling. call
Fare thee weil, fare thee wall.
The soldiers in line are a-falitak.
Fare thee well, fare thee well.
There’s a rose in your hair, sweet malden,
And its fragrance floats on the air,
But the rose from your cheek is fading.
Hark, I can hear the trumpets blare.

Chorus:
AGAIN
Good-by, little girl, good-by.
Good-by, little girl, good-by
Just let me wear that rose so fair.
For I’m marching away to be a soldier:
Don’t cry, little girl, don’t cry,
By and by, little girl, by and by.
In my uniform of blue.
I’ll come marching back to you,
Good-by, little giri, good-by.

From afar comes the sound of the battle.
Bugles call, soldiers fall.
On the ground mid the roar and the rattle
Lies a boy, soldier boy boy. *
“There’s a rose in my breast, my comrade.”
I could hear him say, ‘mid the battle’s fray.
“If they spare you to see my darling
Will you take it back to her and say.”

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