The Wildwood Rose
O silver sky what wind does blow?
Across the moor to the wildwood rose
What snow does fall, the mountain’s wrath
Against the bright rose malice hath
O gentle rose, be not afeared
Thy humble strength to persevere
Where brutish strength and cunning fail
The meek and mild rose will prevail.
O wildwood rose, the river spray,
Does it wash thy tears away?
No boastful weed nor greedy vine
Would the wildwood rose entwine.
O wildwood rose, come hither soon,
I ask of you this simple boon.
Most favored of virtues, the last and the best,
Come to my heart, and there take your rest.