Uma rosa nas urzes

A boy saw a rose,
A rose on the heather,
So young and beautiful as the morning,
He ran quickly to see it more closely
And looked at it with great pleasure.
Rose, rose, red rose,
Rose on the heather.

The boy said "I'm going to pick you,
Rose on the heather."
The rose said: "I'll prick you,
So that you'll always remember me,
And I will not let you."
Rose, rose, red rose,
Rose on the heather.

And the wild boy picked
The rose on the heather;
The rose fought back and pricked him,
Her complaints did her no good,
She had to let it happen.
Rose, rose, red rose,
Rose on the heather.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe