To a garden full of
Cometh one to gather flowers;
And he wanders through its
Toying with the wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting - never
That for Cytherean
He would gather aught but roses.
In a nest of weeds and nettles,
Lay a violet, half hidden;
Hoping that his glance
Yet might fall upon her petals.
Though she lived alone, apart,
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas! the cruel
Set her little heart a-breaking,
For he gathered for his
Only roses - only roses!
