59 
Thus woman’s Love 
Must ever prove, 
Imaged in this sweet flower; 
Oh, bid it live, 
And charms ’twill give, 
To each revolving hour; 
But blight it not by coldness ever, 
’T will wither in a day, 
And the rich gift, and gentle giver, 
Will both alike decay! 
But ever be 
The Bose to thee, 
A charmed and valued flower, 
And grace ’twill throw, 
O’er every wo, 
That shades thine earthly bower; 
Within thy bosom guard it well, 
From each rude storm that lowers; 
And Love will prove his magic spell, 
Dwells in this Queen of Flowers. 
