English poem
The Rose
by Václav Hanka (1791–1861)
THE rose it sweetly bloometh, But whose then shall it be? Ah! long long time I watch’d it, Alas! unhappy me!
As long as undevelop’d, And in the bud it grows, There’s no one looks upon it, Nor marks the coming rose.
O carefully I watch’d it, Like pearls that precious be; O then it was a promise Of future bliss to me!
But soon as from the green leaves An issue forth it found, It was the admiration Of all the lads around!