While on my walk I saw a rose,
Although it did not notice me,
Whose petals were inclined to pose
As noble as could noble be.
Its leaves were of the fairest hue,
The brightest Nature ever saw,
To seem the rarest of the few
That grew where none had grown before.
It had a soft and tender scent,
And there like perfume to my brain,
In ecstasy did I relent,
With mortal eye to its refrain.
The next day when I walked again,
Along that path through meadows green,
The birds were singing with a strain,
I heard it in their voices keen.
To tell me that the rose had died,
For want of love, and loneliness,
In the field she withered and dried,
And so through tears of tenderness,
I myself knelt down and cried.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem