THE ROSE 69 



And from Eden's mosses wove 



An apron chaste. In vain she strove, 



For in that veil of emerald lace 



The Moss Rose found an added grace. 



OLIVER HERFORD. 



THE ROSE 



A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North, 

 Grew in a little garden all alone ; 

 A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth, 

 Nor fairer garden yet was never known : 

 The maidens danced about it morn and noon, 

 The learned bards of it their ditties made ; 

 The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon 

 Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade. 

 But well-a-day ! the gardener careless grew ; 

 The maids and fairies both were kept away, 

 And in a drought the caterpillars threw 

 Themselves upon the bud and every spray. 



God shield the stock ! If heaven send no supplies, 

 The fairest blossom of the garden dies. 



WILLIAM BROWNE. 



THE ROSE 



An ! see, deep-blushing in her green recess, 

 The bashful virgin Rose, that half revealing, 

 And half within herself, herself concealing, 

 Is lovelier for her hidden loveliness. 



