The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.

This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
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And thus, what can we do,
Poor rose and poet too,
Who both antedate our mission
In an unprepared season?

When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.

When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.