The Rosebush Trembles

The rosebush trembled when

A bird on its twig flew;
My own soul trembles when

I think, my dear, of you,
I think, my dear, of you,

My darling, charming maid.
Thou art the richest gem

My God has ever made.

When swollen is the Danube,

Then it doth overflow;
My heart, with love replete,

Doth now for thee just so.
Tell me, my dearest rose,

Art thou to me still true?
Not even thy parents, dear,

Can love thee as I do.
I know thy love was mine

'Neath last year's summer sun;
But winter came since then —

Who knows what he has done?
Shouldst thou love me no more,

I pray God bless thee still;
But, if thou lov'st me. then,

A thousandfold he will.