THE ROSE 



(From Camoens) 



Just like love is yonder rose : 

 Heavenly fragrance roud it throws, 

 Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose, 

 And, in the midst of briars it blows, 



Just like Love ! 



Culled to bloom upon the breast, 

 Since rough thorns the stem invest, 

 They must be gathered with the rest, 

 And with it to the heart be prest, 



Just like Love ! 



And when rude hands the twin-buds sever, 

 They die, and they shall blossom never ; 

 Yet the thorns be sharp as ever ; 



Just like Love ! 



