You are queen of spring as you spread
Ruby red
Treasures on view in their rareness,
And so unto the sun you show
The bright glow
Of your naïve and candid fairness.
You can see redoubled appear
Far and near
Your face with its vermilion flushes
Through the wheat joys in the scene
Midst its green
Of your fair image that bright blushes,
As I breathe your scent that's distilled,
Passion-filled
Close at hand a song I am singing
To live, the Sisters grim despite,
And take flight
Where his course great Horace is winging.
Now some of carnations will write
Crimson bright,
Or the lily's silvery flowers,
Or blossoms whose life had as springs
Blood of kings,
In meadows gay with varied bowers.
But I while I sing shall praise
All my days
No flow'r in my Odes save roses,
Because 'tis the rose bears the name
Of great fame
Of her who my being encloses.