The light breeze is blowing
Around the king's forest:
The maiden is hasting,
She hastes to the stream;
She scoops with her bucket
The fresh flowing waters:
But look! to the maiden
The stream bears a nosegay,
A nosegay of fragrance,
Of violets and roses —
The maiden outstretches
Her hand to obtain it:
She falls — Ah! she falls in
The cold running water.
O! had I but known it,
Thou beautiful nosegay!
But known on the borders
Who planted thy beauties,
In faith, I would give him
A ring of pure gold!
O had I but known it,
Thou beautiful nosegay!
But known who collected
Thy beauties and bound them,
In faith I would give him
The pin of my hair!
O had I but known it,
Thou beautiful nosegay!
But known who first flung thee
To swim on the streamlet,
In truth I would give him
The wreath on my head.