A rosebud grew by the castle wall,
And the stars of eve their dews let fall;
The lily looked up in tenderness,
And the south wind woo’d it with soft caress.
The death-watch ticks so loudly.
The hyacinth trembled in breezeless air;
The violet faded in sweet despair;
And the nightingale sang
till its heart would break;
And all for the rosebud’s darling sake.
Rosebuds, rosebuds, rosebuds red,
Rosebuds, ye bloom proudly.
But the rose unmoved at noon, eve, and dawn,
Sat in cold, calm, passionless grace withdrawn;
Inly saying, “The earl’s young daughter alone,
As my sister in beauty, I care to own.”
The death-watch ticks so loudly.
The earl’s young daughter was fair in sooth,
She walked in the light of her fearless youth;
“My beauty,” she said,
“like the queen on her throne,
Shall take all homage and yield to none.”
Rosebuds, rosebuds, rosebuds red,
Rosebuds, ye bloom proudly.

Her maidens tired her out one night
In a robe of satin, all pearly white;
Then spoke she to one: “By the castle wall
There grows a rosebud fairest of all.”
The death-watch ticks so loudly.
“Go, bring it to me; for this night I’ll wear
Its crimson grace in my black, black hair;
And squire, knight, or baron may sigh till they die,
My rosebud will mind them as much as I.”
Rosebuds, rosebuds, rosebuds red,
Rosebuds, ye bloom proudly.

How she shone in the glory of unshadow’d light,
When all pulses were madden’d
with musical might,
With her eyes’ cruel mildness,
and lips curved in scorn,
As with lover and lover she danced till morn!
The death-watch ticks so loudly.
A heartless word had but pass’d her lips,
When her crimson cheek had a wan eclipse;
And she placed her hand to her heaving side,
And she fell like a falling star in her pride.
Rosebuds, rosebuds, rosebuds red,
Rosebuds, ye bloom proudly.

In her satin they placed her upon her bed,
None ever looked fairer than she when dead;
They left the red rose untouched in her hair,
You could not tell which was most fair,
The death-watch ticks so loudly.
Together, just under the coffin lid,
That maiden, that rose, slept, in darkness hid;
Their pride and their beauty
they had but one day;
Which was the fairer none ever could say.
Rosebuds, rosebuds, rosebuds red,
Rosebuds, ye bloom proudly.
– Rose Poem by Heinrich Heine