Classic Poem

I sowed the seeds of love,
It was all in the spring,
In April, May, and June, likewise,
When small birds they do sing.

My garden's well planted
With flowers everywhere,
Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself
The flower that I loved so dear.

My gardener he stood by,
I asked him to choose for me,
He chose me the violet, the lily and pink,
But those I refused all three.

The violet I forsook,
Because it fades so soon,
The lily and pink I did o'erlook,
And I vowed I'd stay till June.

In June there's a red rose-bud,
And that's the flower for me!
But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud
Till I gained the willow-tree.

The willow-tree will twist,
And the willow-tree will twine--
O I wish I was in the dear youth's arms
That once had the heart of mine.

My gardener he stood by,
He told me to take great care,
For in the middle of a red rose-bud
There grows a sharp thorn there.

I told him I'd take no care
Till I did feel the smart,
And oft I plucked at the red rose-bud
Till I pierced it to the heart.

I'll make me a posy of hyssop,
No other can I touch,
That all the world may plainly see
I love one flower too much.

My garden is run wild!
Where shall I plant anew--
For my bed, that once was covered with thyme,
Is all overrun with rue?