He gave her a rose as he left her,
And set out upon the sea.
"Don't worry, I'll be back at month's end,
Then, love, you will marry me."

The ship had been gone only hours
When wind increased to a gale.
She prayed he would find safe haven,
Though prayer was to no avail.

Her heart began beating as thunder;
Her tears flowed down like the rain;
Her hand grasped the rose that he gave her;
The thorns in her palm caused no pain.

He promised that he would return here,
An oath she felt to be true.
She promised, "No matter what happens,
Dear sailor, I will wait for you."

Sixty years has been spent since disaster
Took her love from the land.
In her cold bed she died still holding,
A wilted rose in a withered hand.

She is buried beside the sea shore.
A lonely old maid was she.
In her last fleeting breath she pleaded,
"My sailor, come back to me!"

One day on a cool foggy morning,
An apparition from the sand,
Knelt by her grave site holding,
A wilted rose in a withered hand