Nobody knows this little Rose.
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it

from the ways
And lift it up to Thee. –
Only a Bee will miss it –
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey
On it′s breast – to lie –
Only a Bird – will wonder –
Only a Breeze will sigh,
Ah, Little Rose!
How Easy, for such
as thee, to die!