A Wayward Rose

Mischievous rose from the rose-tree swaying, Can I not bind thee nor hold thee? Can I not weave thee nor fold thee In with thy sisters to staying? Vain is my passion or praying, Rose from the rose-tree swaying. Wayward sweet rose from the rose-tree swinging, Can I not pass thee, forget thee? Can I not see to regret thee? In—'mid thy kindred's close ringing, Out—to my heart she comes winging, Rose from the rose-tree swinging. Cruel red rose from the rose-tree swaying, Ever to worship thee, throne thee, Never to lose thee or own thee, Thy beauty to keep me from straying, Thy thorns for my passionate praying, Rose from the rose-tree swaying.