O love the rose, O love the thorn,
O love whose cheek with crimson glows,
O love that leavest hearts forlorn
Oh, tell me, ere the petals close,
Is love a rose?
O love the thorn, O love the rose,
O love, thy blush, of roses born,
With lily whiteness comes and goes,
O love with cheek oft wan and worn,
Is love a thorn?
Oh, love’s a rose without the thorn;
Its petals fall; but while it grows
Its virgin hue doth steal from morn
Heaven’s own glory as it blows.
Oh, love’s a rose!