Down the village street

Down the village street

Trips my Lady sweet,

Blooming roses in her hand.

And my heart beats fast

As she comes at last,

Yet in silence here I stand.

Then she speaks to me:

"Look, a rose for thee!

Take and keep it, it is thine!"

In the time of flow'rs

Wak'ning love is ours,

And the sweetest rose is mine.