Like a rose sprang Jeanie,
From a blue May hour,
Friendship all her pride,
Virtue all her dower.

Like a rose spread Jeanie,
Whom warm skies illume;
Like its breath, in sweetness;
Like its dye, in bloom.

Like a rose fell Jeanie,
Snut by winter cold;
Loved—destroyed—derided;
So,—her tale is told!

Oh, too tender woman!
Heed her shame—her pain:
Let's not tell her story
A thousand times in vain!