DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 133 
THE ROSE. 
D. EVERETT ROSE. 
Loved daughter of the laughing May! 
The light of all that’s pure is thine; 
The rosy beams that wake the day, 
Upon thy cheeks of velvet shine. 
Thy beauty paints the evening skies, 
It mingles with the rainbow’s dyes, 
In love’s own light its blushes speak 
On ruby lip and vermeil cheek. 
No wooing zephyrs ever strayed 
To whisper love or steal a kiss, 
Or dancing sunbeam ever played 
Upon a sweeter flower than this. 
The night fays o’er thy bosom strew 
The sparklet of the nectar dew; 
And on their shrine the pearls have slept, 
Like tears the dying stars have wept. 
Many a pouting lip has flushed 
In rival beauty by thy side; 
Many a maiden cheek has blushed 
In vain to match thy crimson pride. 
The pink may burst its varied hue, 
The violet its azure blue, 
The lily claim the snow its own; 
But still thou reign’st undimmed alone. 
