Droop all the flowers in my garden,
All their fair heads hang low;
For rose, their fairest companion,
Never again will they know.
Bring me no flowers for wearing,
Take these strange buds away,
For I cannot now have the fairest—
My rose that has died to-day.
What has blighted my blossom?
Stricken it down with death,
Over the walls of my garden,
What, save the world's cold breath?
Then bring me no flowers for wearing,
Take these strange buds away,
Since I cannot now have the sweetest—
My rose that has died to-day.