Take this rose, lovely as yourself, Who are a rose among the prettiest roses, Who are a flower among the freshest flowers, Whose scent so entirely delights me. Take this rose, and with it accept Into your breast my heart, which has no wings: It is constant, and a hundred deep wounds Have not stopped it from keeping faith with you. The rose and I, we differ in one way: One day sees the rose born and die But a thousand days have watched my love born And it will never rest. But would to God that this hidden love Should, like a flower, have lasted me but a day. Blanchemain offers an alternative in the penultimate line: “Ha ! plut à Dieu que telle amour éclose” (‘this blossoming love’) which seems to me a better choice of word!