When the rose came, I loved the rose, 
  And thought of none beside, 
Forgetting all the other flowers. 
  And all the others died ; 
And morn, and noon, and sun, and showers, 
  And all things loved the rose. 
Who only half returned my love, 
  Blooming alike for those. 

I was the rival of a score 
  Of loves on gaudy wing. 
The nightingale I would implore 
  For pity not to sing ; 
Each called her his, still I was glad 
  To wait or take my part ; 
I loved the rose -- who might have had 
  The fairest lily's heart.