There is a garden of roses far away to the east, 
Where a maiden lies asleep; 
The roses have no thorns in that garden, 
And they grow softly about her 
And make a pillow for her fair head. 
A blustering wind came once and nearly waked her, 
But she was so beautiful that  he fell deep  in  love;  
And he  turned  into  the softest  breeze
That  ever fanned a woman's cheek in summer, 
For fear lest he should trouble her sleep.