POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



And bade them bloom, the flowers divme 

 Of him who sheds the teeming vine ; 

 And bade them on the spangled thorn 

 Expand their bosoms to the morn. 



THE QUEEN OF THE GARDEN. 



If Jove would give the leafy bowers 

 A queen for all their world of flowers, 

 The Rose would be the choice of Jove, 

 And reign the queen of every grove. 

 Sweetest child of weeping moining, 

 Gem, the vest of earth adorning, 

 Eye of flowerets, glow of lawns, 

 Bud of beauty, nursed by dawns ; 

 Soft the soul of love it breathes — 

 Cypria's brow with magic wreathes. 

 And to the zephyr's warm caresses 

 Diffuses .all its verdant tresses, 

 Till, glowing with the wanton's play. 

 It blushes a diviner ray ! 



THE THORNS OF THE ROSE 



Where grew the Rose, Eve often sped 



To gather fresh supplies, 

 And daily from their mossy bed 



The new-blown beauties rise. 



One morn — a sad and luckless morn — 



She hither bent her way ; 

 But ah ! less heedful of return. 



Her wishes went astray. 



Anacreon. 



