  In my garden a rosebud is growing, is growing, So fast, ’twill be blossoming soon. Around it the zephyrs are balmily blowing, The sweet scented zephyrs of June, Of June, The odorous zephyrs of June. My love shall watch o’er, and protect, and protect it, While shyly its petals unfold. The bees shall not rob nor the canker affect it, Nor night make it tremble with cold, With cold, Nor night make it shudder with cold. And when it is blown, I’ll bear it, I’ll bear it To her whom I worship alone. On her beauteous bosom she’ll lay it and wear it And rival its charms by her own, Her own, And shame all its grace by her own. |
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