Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose —

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.

Only a Bee will miss it —

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey —

On its breast to lie —

Only a Bird will wonder —

Only a Breeze will sigh —

Ah Little Rose — how easy

For such as thee to die!