The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Wild Rose
THE WILD ROSE.
A boy espied, in morning light,
A little rosebud blowing;
'Twas so delicate and bright,
That he came to feast his sight,
And wonder at its growing
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Rosebud brightly blowing!
"I will gather thee,"—he cried,—
"Rosebud brightly glowing!"
"Then I'll sting thee," it replied,
"And you'll quickly start aside
With the prickle glowing."
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Rosebud brightly blowing!
But he plucked it from the plain,
The rosebud brightly blowing!
It turned and stung him, but in vain
He regarded not the pain,
Homeward with it going,
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Rosebud brightly blowing!