O crimson rose, O crimson rose,

Crushed lightly in two little hands;

A child's soft kiss was in your heart,

A child's warm breath was in your soul.

The child is gone, O crimson rose,

And stained and hardened are the hands,

And who shall find your golden heart

And who shall kiss your withered soul?

Happy are you, O crimson rose,

But I have stains upon my hands;

You died with kisses in your heart,

I live with sorrow in my soul.