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Literary Gazette, 3rd January, 1835, Pages 11-12
The Lovely little Flower.—Goethe.
I know a lovely little flower, a flower for which I pine—
I would go gather it, but bars my heavy hours confine;
Oh, grief, when free, how easily that little flower was mine!
How dark and stern the wooded rocks around my tower ascend!
In vain to seek my little flower a weary look I send,
Or knight or serf who brought it me should be my dearest friend.
The Rose.
'Tis I, the Rose! thy prison-grate has kept us long apart;
But noble is thy spirit, Knight, ill-fated as thou art,
Since she that is the queen of flowers is queen too of thy heart.
The Knight.
Now honour to thy purple, beneath its green moss dress,
Fair maidens grow more fair who wreath with thee each auburn tress;
But thou art not the flower I ask to soothe my loneliness.
