A lover talking to a rosebud, which smells sweeter than basil and hyacinths sprinkled with dew.
I won’t pick you, my rose, nor give you to the one I love.
My love doesn’t care for me, nor does she wait for me. I don’t have a sweetheart, yet she's on my mind, and I curse her day and night. May she never escape my curse, for she has left me all alone.