Far in the inland valleys,
   The Spring her secret tells;
The roses lift on the bushes,
   The lilies shake their bells.

To a lily of the valley
   A white rose leans from above
"Little white flower o'the valley,
   Come up and be my love."

To the lily of the valley
   A speedwell whispers, "No!
Where the roses live are thorns,
   'Tis safe below."

The lily clomb to the rose-bush,
   A thorn in her side:
The white rose has wedded a red rose,
   And the lily died.