There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Sweet and Lovely
Sweet and lovely
Sweeter than the roses in May
Sweet and lovely
Heaven must have sent him my way
Skies above me
Never were as blue as his eyes
And he loves me
Who would want a sweeter surprise?
When he nestles in my arms so tenderly
There's a thrill that words cannot express
In my heart a song of love is taunting me
Melody haunting me
Sweet and lovely
Sweeter than the roses in May
And he loves me
There is nothing more I can say
When he nestles in my arms so tenderly
There's a thrill that words cannot express
In my heart a song of love is taunting me
Melody haunting me
Sweet and lovely
Sweeter than the roses in May
And he loves me
There is nothing more I can say
There is nothing more I can say
There is nothing more I can say
There is nothing more I can say
There is nothing more I can say