Catherine Winkworth · 21 of 207

The Beauty of This World

O Rose! of the flowers, I ween, thou art fairest, But thorny and worthless the stem that thou bearest, Fleeting thy beauty, unlovely thy fruit; World, I would liken thee unto the roses, Sweet are thy flatteries, sad are their closes, Virtue and goodness in thee have no root.

Red is the berry, O Rose! on thy bushes, Harsh is its inside, though fairly it blushes; So, World, dost thou lure us and mock us with lies: Outside thy seeming is gracious and sunny, Outside thy greetings are sweet as the honey, Bitter thy kernel;--O man, then be wise!

Diu rose ist die schoeneste under alle