With a Rose In the heart of a rose Lies the heart of a maid; If you be not afraid You will wear it. Who knows? In the pink of its bloom, Lay your lips to her cheek; Since a rose cannot speak, And you gain the perfume. If the dews on the leaf Are the tears from her eyes; If she withers and dies, Why, you have the belief, That a rose cannot speak, Though the heart of a maid In its bosom must fade, And with fading must break. |
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