THE ROSE

I saw the white rose in the garden yesterday::
she was yielding to swaying from breezes;:
I took it, and solicitously I plucked:
                its thorns one by one:
:
I carried it to my beloved happily::
Once thorns are plucked, her fingers:
don't have to fear from love.:
                I thought so ... but I was wrong.:
:
At the bottom of the chalice of the rose:
I beheld a drop of rain;:
and the flower and the dim drop:
                I gave to my love later.:
:
When my beauty took it in her hands,:
I watched the drop falling, as a weep;:
I thought that love had its tears:
                And now... I wasn't wrong.