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.