Bohemian legends and other poems — Myrtle

Plant a slip of myrtle green,

Plant a slip, my maiden;

For your wedding it will be,

For a wreath, my maiden.

When she planted it with joy,

To the war he had to go;

And before the myrtle bloomed,

Ah, she was lying low.

When he came back from the war,

Myrtles they were seeking.

From her tree they cut a twig,

For his coffin weeping.