ROSE. 
133 
So passeth, in the passing of a day 
Of mortal life, the leafe, the bud, the flowre, 
Ne more doth florish after first decay, 
That earst was sought to deck both bed and bowre 
Of many a lady, and many a paramowre ! 
Gather therefore the rose whitest yet is prime; 
For soon comes age that will her pride defloure ; 
Gather the rose of love wildest yet is time, 
Whitest loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime. 
ZULEIKA’S ROSE. , 
BYRON. 
A single rose is shedding there 
Its lonely lustre, meek and pale: 
It looks as planted by despair— 
So white, so faint—the slightest gale 
Might whirl the leaves op high ; 
And yet, though storms and blight assail, 
And hands more rude than wintry sky 
May wring it from its stem ; in vain— 
To-morrow sees it bloom again ! 
* * * * * 
To it the livelong night there sings 
A bird unseen, but not remote : 
Invisible his airy wings, 
But soft as harp that Houri strings 
His long entrancing note. 
