To the rose

Go, happy rose, and interwove

With other flowers bind my love.

Tell her too, she must not be

Longer flowing, longer free,

That so oft has fettered me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands

Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;

Tell her, if she struggle still,

I have my the rods at will,

For to tame, but not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus and go,

And tell her this, but do not so!

Lest a handsome anger fly

Like a lightning from her eye,

And burn thee up, as well as I.