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Floral Poetry. 
THE MOSS-ROSE. 
3 HE Rose arose in Sharon’s vale, 
A And bloomed in Eden beauteously ; 
It drank the breath of southern gale; 
It proved the warmth of Summer sky ; 
But o’er thy growth no Summer rose, 
But drifted lay the untrodden snows. 
The Rose of England, Rose of yore, 
In lily and in crimson hue, 
Its bloom was dipped in human gore, 
And sullied were its leaves to view ; 
But thou hast spread amidst the storm, 
In stainless purity, thy form. 
Sweet innocence ! by mercy fed, 
With light and warmth, and shelter meet, 
Whilst Winter all his horrors sped 
In drifted snow and driving sleet. 
Thus have I seen in maiden form 
A beauteous nursling of the storm. 
Sweet purity ! no grosser breath 
Of fervid winds and scorching skies, 
Taught thee to spring from mother earth, 
And ’midst impurities arise : 
But thou hast sprung, a lovely thing, 
Nor proved the genial breath of Spring. 
