The Rose-Bush on The Moor

A lad he saw a rose-bush growing, Rose-bush on the moor, Young and lovely as the morning, Quick he ran to see it glowing, With delight he saw. Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red, Rose-bush on the moor. Said the lad: I’ll pick your bloom, Rose-bush on the moor! Said the rose: ‘Ah, I’ll prick you, So you will remember true, I’ll let you do no more. Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red, Rose-bush on the moor. Then her bloom the cruel lad picked, The rose-bush on the moor: To protect herself she pricked, Cried, sighed, in vain, but quickly Could defend no more. Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red, Rose-bush on the moor.