Clementine

In a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine,

Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daughter Clementine.

Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling Clementine,

You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Light she was and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine;

Herring boxes, without topses, sandals were for Clementine.

Drove she ducklings to the water, every morning just at nine;

Hit her foot against a splinter, fell into the foaming brine.

Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles soft and fine;

Alas for me! I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine.

In a churchyard, near the canyon, where the myrtle doth entwine,

There grow roses and other posies, fertilized by Clementine.

Then the miner, forty-niner, soon began to peak and pine,

Thought he oughter jine his daughter, now he's with his Clementine.

In my dreams she still doth haunt me, robed in garments soaked in brine,

Though in life I used to hug her, now she's dead, I'll draw the line.

~ Anonymous