Clementine

In a cavern, in a canyon,

Excavating for a mine,

Dwelt a miner, forty-niner,

And his daughter Clementine.

Light she was and like a fairy,

And her shoes were number nine;

Herring boxes, without topses,

Sandals were for Clementine.

Drove her ducklings, to the water,

Ev'ry morning, just at nine;

Hit her foot against a splinter,

Fell into the foaming brine.

Saw her lips above the water,

Blowing bubbles mighty fine

But alas I was no swimmer

So I lost my Clementine.

In a corner of the churchyard,

Where the myrtle boughs entwine,

Grow the roses in their posies,

Fertilized by Clementine.

Then the miner, forty-niner,

Soon began to peak and pine;

Thought he "oughter join" 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 draw the line.

How I missed her, how I missed her.

How I missed my Clementine!

But I kissed her little sister,

And forgot my Clementine.