Lake image

A rock projects into the lake,

Where wind and wave cavort!

Over the rocks the young, wild roses

Grow luxuriantly!

Our skiff skimmed past there

And you, in utter joy,

Stretched out your little hands

For those scented jewels.

From the roses I wove a wreath

For your blonde curls!

But as you gazed at me joyfully,

A silent fear struck me.

It seemed to me that the happy wreath

Would not remain on your head in joy,

That this same hand would someday

Bring you Love's crown of thorns!