Dear rose, I have come with a little ode,
Of the love that, deep in my heart I hold
For you and only you, ‘tis for,
And warmth it gives in time of cold.

So tender and white, you are, dear rose-
So unlike, as I suppose;
For all in red and scarlet goes-
So unlike you are to those.

But what do I hear you speak to me:
You suppose our love can never be;
Not until, and unless you can be-
Alike all those in red agree.

Although I love you, the only white,
That echoes the difference in the fields
Of red and scarlet and crimson sight;
But I shall do as your desire yields.

As you whisper and giggle to your other friends,
I retreat to the woods to think and find-
A way to gain you heart in the end,
And know the answer before the winds of time.

Well in time, I stand before your face,
And bow and kiss your lovely white;
At last, I have found the perfect way,
To give your dreams a lovely flight.

I cut my heart and its scarlet blood,
Rains a red atop your soul:
And you smile as white becomes the red,
That would make your desires whole.

As I fade away and see your smile,
I feel I’ve gained more so as yet;
To see your joy in red awhile,
My sun has risen, it had not set.