114 
THE MONTHLY HOSE. 
ILLUSTRATION OF THE SENTIMENT. 
The soft blooms of summer are faint to the eye, 
Where brightly the gay silver Medway glides by; 
And rich are the colours which autumn adorn, 
Its gold-chequer’d leaves, and its billows of corn; 
But dearest to me is the pale lonely Rose, 
Whose blossoms in winter’s dark season unclose, 
Which smile in the rigour of winter’s stern blast. 
And smooth the rough present by sighs of the past. 
And thus, when around us affliction’s dark power 
Eclipses the sunshine of life’s flowing hour. 
While, drooping, deserted, in sorrow we bend, 
Oh ! sweet is the presence of one faithful friend. 
The crowds that smiled on us, when gladness was ours, 
Are summer’s bright blossoms which autumn devours; 
But the friend on whose breast we in sorrow repose. 
That friend is thy monthly bloom, ever fair Rose. 
M. 
