Page:Sunset Gun.pdf/31

 There was one a-riding grand As he rode from me. And he raised his golden band And he threw it in the sea.

There was one a-walking slow To a sad, long sigh. And his rose drooped low, And he flung it down to die.

There was one with a swagger And a little, sharp pride, And a bright, cold dagger Ever at his side.

At his side it stayed When he ran to part. What is this blade Struck through my heart?