The Rose.

         O thou rose, thou red rose,
         Why hast thou bloomed so early,
         Why, having bloomed, art thou frost-stricken?
         Why, frost-stricken, dost thou fade?
         Why, having faded, dost thou fall?
         I sat during the night - I sat long,
         I sat till cock-crowing;
         No longer could I keep awake;
         All the pine-torch was burnt out.
         I slept: it appeared to me in my dream
         How from me, poor girl,
         From the finger of my right hand
         The golden ring fell:
         The precious stone was lost:
         I never found the stone-
         I never met my love.