So oft we gaze and seldom truly see

Born out of humble soil, yet grown to be

The sweetest sight a cherished garden knows.

How can that flower from dust alone distill

A fragrance that no bloom can yet compare;

That emblem borne by hand, to love instill—

As though its scent were blessed with heaven’s air?

So apt a symbol is the rose for love,

Which oft enthralls the heart at just one sight

To glow as bright as paradise above,

Outshining every blossom graced by light.

No connoisseur of flowers—truth be known,

With eyes unschooled, I picked you for my own.