Once a boy a wild rose spied,
In the hedgerow growing;
Fresh in all her youthful pride,
When her beauties he descried,
Joy in his heart was glowing.
Little wild rose, wild rose red,
In the hedgerow growing.
Said the boy, "I'll gather thee,
In the hedgerow growing!"
Said the rose, "Then I'll pierce thee
That thou may'st remember me."
Thus reproof bestowing.
Little wild rose, wild rose red,
In the hedgerow growing.
Thoughtlessly he pulled the rose,
In the hedgerow growing;
But her thorns their spears oppose.
Vainly he laments his woes,
With pain his hand is glowing.
Little wild rose, wild rose red,
In the hedgerow growing.
—Goethe.
THE WANDERER'S NIGHT SONG
Night descends in peace o'er the trees,
Each trembling leaflet, e'en the breeze,
Hath slumber blest.
The little birds cease their ev'ning song.
Wait awhile, wait awhile, ere long
Thou too shalt rest;
Wait awhile, wait awhile, ere long
Thou too shalt rest.
—Goethe.