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dominique.
Gather me roses with the thorn,
And berries with the bane;
Blend into one the night and morn,
Blend summer's sun with wintry rain;
And berries with the bane;
Blend into one the night and morn,
Blend summer's sun with wintry rain;
Yet these are never like the woe,
The treasure I conceal;
All bleak, all dark, all bane, all thorn;
My fiery ill is all my weal.
The treasure I conceal;
All bleak, all dark, all bane, all thorn;
My fiery ill is all my weal.
