His sweet rose here oversea
I must gather sadly;
Which, beloved, unto thee
I would bring how gladly!

But alas! if o'er the foam
I this flower should carry,
It would fade ere I could come;
Roses may not tarry.

Farther let no mortal fare
Who would be a wooer,
Than unwithered he may bear
Blushing roses to her,

Or than nightingale may fly
For her nesting grasses,
Or than with the west wind's sigh
Her soft warbling passes.