WITH A ROSE

In the heart of a rose Lies the heart of a maid; If you be not afraid You will wear it. Who knows?

In the pink of its bloom, Lay your lips to her cheek; Since a rose cannot speak, And you gain the perfume.

If the dews on the leaf Are the tears from her eyes; If she withers and dies, Why, you have the belief,

That a rose cannot speak, Though the heart of a maid In its bosom must fade, And with fading must break.