While wandering through the valley of my soul,
Disheartened at all the grey;
By chance I came across a single rose
Shining like all the colors of the day.

Said the rose, "Do not pluck me, for I am thorny
And have pricked many a passer-by."
Said I, "I care not, for you are lovely
Fairer than you I have never seen."

Hearing this, she burst into sobs, crying:
"These thorns I have grown to cover my wounds;
Scars left by those who failed to pluck,
And I left in the dirt.

Do me a kindness, sir, and do not try;
I am sure you will fail like all the others.
Rather--save your hand, and my heart:
And leave me here, alone."

So departed I along my way;
Pitying her as I went.
For she was truly beautiful--
But did not know it yet.