There's not a rose on yonder bush that stands before thy door;
There's not a bird but it had heard my secret oft before,
The very wind in heav'n that blows and breaths of fragrance rare,
Doth know full well what I would tell,
Doth know full well what I would tell,
Did I but dare to ope my heart and show to thee, the secret there.

O stars within the tender skies, keep watch o'er her, tonight,
O falling dew, guard her I woo, until the morning light,
O night breeze bear my song to her, O tell her how I long for her,
O maiden mine, More glorious than the night thou art!
More glorious than the night, than day more fair, than day more fair!

Go ask the roses on the bush that stands before thy door,
Go ask the bird that's nightly heard me tell my story o'er,
And if they will not tell thee then no longer dumb I'll be!
O sweetheart, thou shalt hear it now,
O sweetheart, thou shalt hear it now,
By ev'ry star above and rose on earth I swear I love thee!