"SWEET SUMMER BUDS" 157 



performed for the first time as all redolent with the 

 perfume of dried, spiced and powdered rose-leaves.'* 

 In "Sonnet LIV" Shakespeare says: 



The rose looks fair, but fairer it we deem 



For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 



The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 



As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 



Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly 



When summer's breath their masked buds discloses. 



But, for their virtue only is their show, 



They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; 



Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; 



Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made. 



For twenty-seven centuries and more the rose 

 has been considered queen of flowers. Her perfume, 

 her color, her elegance, and her mystic fascination 

 have won all hearts. Shakespeare says : "A rose by 

 any other name would smell as sweet." In one sense 

 that is true ; but we would not be willing to try an- 

 other title, for the very word rose is a beautiful one 

 and conjures up a particular and very special vision 

 of sweetness and beauty. 



Thousands and thousands of poems have been 

 written in praise of this flower, ever since Sappho 

 sang to her lyre the words "Ho! the rose! Ho! the 

 rose!" 



