THE MOSS ROSE. 
The Angel of the Flowers, one clay, 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ; — 
That spirit to whom charge is given, 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven : 
Awaking from his light repose, 
The Angel whispered to the Rose : — 
“ 0, fondest object of my care, 
Still fairest found, where all is fair ; 
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me, 
Ask what thou wilt, ’t is granted thee ! ” 
“ Then,” said the Rose, with deepened glow, 
“ On me another grace bestow.” 
The spirit paused in silent thought ; — 
What grace was there the flower had not ? — 
’T was but a moment — o’er the Rose 
A veil of moss, the Angel throws ; 
And robed in nature’s simplest weed, 
Could there a flower that Rose exceed ? 
( 49 ) 
FROM THE GERMAN. 
