The Unfortunate Damsel

I sowed the seeds of love

To blossom all the spring,

In April, May, or else in June,

When the small birds do sing:

A gardener standing by,

I desired him to choose for me;

He picked out the lily, the violet, and pink,

But I refused all three.

The lily I refused,

Because it faded so soon;

The violet and pink I overlooked,

Resolved was to tarry till June:

In June the red roses bud,

Oh, that is a lover for me;

But I have often aimed at the red rose-bud,

And I have gained the willow tree.

The gardener standing by,

He prayed me to have a care,

For the thorn that grew on the red rose-bush,

A venomous thorn they were:

A venomous thorn indeed,

For still I feel the smart;

And every time I did it touch,

It pricked my tender heart.

Away you fading flowers,

No more I will you touch,

That all the world may plainly see

I loved one flower too much.