Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue that is held most dear―
except only that you are merciless.
Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I saw flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently―
yet nowhere, one leaf or flower of rue.
I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair rose of pallid and gentle cast,
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that, if I could, I would compose her roots again―
so comforting her bowering leaves have been.
Please note that this is my translation of the poem, not the original version by William Dunbar.
Into your garden, today, I followed you; there I saw flowers of freshest hue, Nicely written.
great poem! ...on the scorching effect of the heat in the month of March. Oh March! You month of March that blaze my orchard and leave them dry and pale and sad... How wicked you are!
Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness Except only that you are merciless Contrast wonderfully articulated. Nice work. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gentleness! With the muse of peace and love. Nice piece of work.