New Spring, 7

With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love,
A thousand times hovering round;
But round himself, all tender like gold,
The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found.

With whom is the rose herself in love?
An answer I’d fain receive.
Is it the singing nightingale?
Is it the silent star of eve?

I know not with whom the rose is in love,
But every one love I:
The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray,
The star of eve and butterfly.