I come from the rose tree, mother,
I come from the rose-tree.
Clouds and tempests, get ye gone,
Hence, yemists and every shadow,
Let field, valley, hill, and meadow
Shine with green as erst they shone.
Cold ant frost we now may spurn,
Let soft vapours fill the air,
Grass be gay with flowers fair,
Gladness to the crops retum;
By the banks of yonder stream
I saw red roses gleam.
I come from the rose-tree.
All after their kind be seen
In their beauty and their brightness,
Flowers in their robe of whiteness,
And the Earth in vestment green,
Stolen array by winter keen.(1)
Blest my triumph, that afar
Now irradiates the sky,
And in equal pleasure vie
All that of my kingdom are.
By the river the rose-tree
All in flower did I see.
I come from the rose-tree.
The God of lovers unto me
Entrusted has his keys and power
That at my bidding in this hour
The birds their psalms of love may sing.
And you heartless ones who see
I am here, bear this in mind -
This command of love I bring:
No friend of mine that heart shall be
That is cruel and unkind.
All in flower before my eyes
And the roses plucked with sighs.
I come from the rose tree.
I come from the rose-tree, mother,
I come from the rose-tree.
(...)
