202 
TO A ROSE. 
Thou flower of heavenly seed ! 
Emphatical delight! 
Thou, in whose leaves we read 
The soul of crimson, light! 
That married art, indeed, 
And vow’d to Summer bright; 
And didst of Spring proceed; 
What tongue can paint thee right ? 
Ere thou art born on earth, 
The shepherds sing thy praise; 
The cities waken mirth, 
In hope of flowery days : 
Thou art the chiefest birth, 
That swelling Nature pays, 
To ransom Winter’s dearth, 
And Spring’s unkind delays. 
The pink and violet meet, 
The jasmine dwells in thee, 
The honey-suckle sweet, 
The jacinth budding free ; 
