The maiden and the rose
Johann Rudolf Zumsteeg
A maiden is like a rose.
Nothing is so beautiful, nor so delicate!
It takes so little to make her wither,
and once lost nothing can restore her glory.
So long as the queen of flowers,
avoiding the burning ardor of noonday,
rests on her stem in all her freshness,
she has the right to flower and to charm everyone.
She is the pride of nature,
the adornment of love,
the idol of the Zephyr.
A maiden is like a rose.
So long as the queen of flowers,
avoiding the burning ardor of noon,
rests on her stem in all her freshness,
she has the right to flower and to charm everyone.
She is the pride of nature,
the adornment of love,
the idol of the Zephyr.
But should a foolhardy hand dare
to take her from her thorn,
immediately she languishes.
The Zephyr flees in disdain.
The moment after she withers,
nothing can cure her sadness.
Lifeless and without honour, she is trampled under foot.
Her cruel fate must educate and touch its hearers.
A maiden is like a rose.
This precious freshness,
and this enchanting charm,
young beauty, for you is modesty.
A maiden is like a rose.
Nothing is so beautiful, nor so delicate!
It takes so little to make her wither,
and once lost nothing can restore her glory.
A maiden is like a rose.
The homage of my verses is nothing, Dacha,
but these have some attraction for you
because my Muse sang as I thought of you.
A maiden is like a rose.