In a bower, a garland wreathing,
My beloved sat reclining,
Sweetest roses intertwining;
She, ere they were bound in posies,
Pressed them to the kindred roses
Of her lips with fragrance breathing.

A Bee within a rose was lying,
Him the crimson leaves concealing,
While the nectar he was stealing;
As her lips approached, upspringing,
He the seeming rosebud stinging,
Sipped its sweets, then vanished flying!