Röslein, Röslein!

Rose, little rose,

Why must you bear thorns?

Thus musing, I once fell asleep

By a shady brook, and in my dreams

I saw, standing in golden sunshine,

A thornless rose.

And I plucked and kissed it;

A thornless rose!

The Nightingale

Captivated by a rose, the nightingale

Sings over her, both day and night;

But the rose in silence harkens to his songs...

And so a certain other singer, to his lyre,

Sings for his young maiden;

But the maiden tender does not know

For whom he sings, and why

His songs should be so sad?...

Then I awoke and looked around.

I knew I had seen one; where was it?

All around, near and far in the sunshine

Stood roses, all with thorns!

And the brook laughed at me:

‘Leave your dreaming;

You may be sure

That all roses have thorns.’

Rote Rosen

Do you recall the rose you gave me?

The shy violets’ proud, ardent sister,

Its fragrance still drew life from your bosom,

And I imbibed that fragrance with ever greater glee.

I see you before me, forehead and temples ablaze,

Your nape defiant, your hands soft and white,

Spring still in your eyes, but your figure in full

Bloom, like the meadow in midsummer.

Night, cool and cloudless, weaves itself around me,

But day and night are blended into one.

I dream of your red rose

And of the garden where I won it.

Svartar Rosor

Say, why are you so sad today,

You, who are always so happy and glad?

I am sad no more today

Than when I think of you happy and glad;

For sorrow has roses black as night.

In my heart there grows a tree,

Which never grants me rest,

upon its stems hangs thorn after thorn,

it causes me endless suffering and pain;

For sorrow has roses black as night.

But there is a whole treasure of roses,

Some white as death, some red as blood.

It grows and grows. I believe I pale,

in my heart-tree’s roots it tugs and pulls;

For sorrow has roses black as night.