MY heart is burnt in this deadly air,
And the ashes of it are grey,
But the red, red rose you planted there
Blooms in my heart alway.
Out of grey dust and bitter pain,
Its soft red petals blow;
For they are washed by morning rain
And cooled by mountain snow.
You planted that rose and went your way;
And though long, long days you're gone,
Out of the dust of those ashes grey,
Its petals still bloom on.
They are fed by love; and the love they need
My heart can furnish well;
For the heart whose love has tears that bleed
Can make flowers bloom in hell.
They are fed by pain; and pain can draw
Fresh dew from a dried-up spring;
For the pain of love has a secret law;
Can conquer everything.
With that red rose growing in ashes grey,
I can bear what fate may send;
You planted it and went your way —
You are mine now, till the end!