To a rose
Tor Aulin
Oh, you my spring so cool,
oh, you my rose so red,
rose that so soon unfurled!
To whom shall I give you?
Perhaps to my mother?
I have no mother more.
Perhaps to my sister?
She's away with her mate.
Perhaps to my brother?
He's gone to war.
Perhaps to my darling then?
Oh, he is far away
beyond three forest fronds,
beyond three river floods.