If love may be thy sweet rose;
If love may be truly sweet,
As the perfect flower grows
In the garden, how may I greet?
As a budding rose yet to unfold,
Would thy love not be true,
If as somehow it will be bold,
And blossom not red, but blue?
I will never gaze thy rose’s shade,
Lest I tend with care for now;
I take care thy rose and wade,
Until her blooming petals show:
I shall greet her with the same affect;
As with budding roses, love I can't detect.
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