Ah me!” she said, “’tis sad to be alone!”
Now up jumps the man all tattered and torn,
And he says to the maiden, “Don’t sit there forlorn.
Behind this wild rose-bush I’ve heard all you said;
And I’ll love and protect you, you dear little maid!
For oft have I hid there, so bashful and shy,
And peeped through the roses to see you go by:
I know every look of those features so fair;
I know every curl of your bright golden hair.
My garments are in bad condition, no doubt;