Those lips, my lady

Those lips, my lady,

Are not roses of May;

(I used always to tell you then.)

Are there roses without thorns?

But I have kissed them just now and I have thought:

They are not a pair of roses,

But they are a great rose-tree!

So that I have even made bloody my heart on it.

No, they are not a pair of roses, my lady,

but a rose-tree!