Roses And Rue

Bring me the roses white and red, And take the laurel leaves away; Yea, wreathe the roses round my head That wearies 'neath the crown of bay. "We searched the wintry forests thro' And found no roses anywhere— But we have brought a little rue To twine a circlet for your hair." I would not pluck the rose in May, I wove a laurel crown instead; And when the crown is cast away, They bring me rue—the rose is dead.