So 
The Poetry of Flowers. 
Whose kindness (though far, far removed) 
My grateful thoughts perceive, 
Pride of my life, esteemed, beloved, 
My last sad claim receive ! 
Oh ! do not quite your friend forget, 
Forget alone her faults ; 
And speak of her with fond regret 
Who asks your lingering thoughts. 
THE LITTLE RED ROSE. 
FROM GOETHE. 
A boy caught sight of a Rose in a bower— 
A little Rose slily hiding 
Among the boughs ; oh! the Rose was bright 
And young, and it glimmered like morning light. 
The urchin sought it with haste ; ’twas a flower 
A child indeed might take pride in— 
A little Rose, little Rose, little red Rose, 
Among the bushes hiding. 
The wild boy shouted—" I’ll pluck thee, Rose, 
Little Rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs ; ” but the little Rose spoke— 
“I’ll prick thee, and that will prove no joke ; 
Unhurt, oh ! then will I mock thy woes, 
Whilst thou thy folly are chiding.” 
Little Rose, little Rose, little red Rose, 
Among the bushes hiding 1 
But the rude boy laid his hands on the flower, 
The little Rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs ; oh ! the Rose was caught, 
But it turned again, and pricked and fought, 
