LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
RED AND WHITE ROSES, 
Read in these Roses the sad story 
Of my hard fate, and your own glory ; 
In the white you may discover 
The paleness of a fainting lover ; 
In the red the flames still feeding 
On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. 
The white will tell you how I languish, 
And the red express my anguish, 
The white my innocence displaying, 
The red my martyrdom betraying ; 
The frowns that on your brow resided, 
Have those roses thus divided. 
Oh ! let your smiles but clear the weather, 
And then they both shall grow together. 
Carew. 
SONNE T. 
Sweet is the rose, but growes upon a brere; 
Sweet is the Juniper, but sharpe his bough; 
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere; 
Sweet is the Firbloom, but his branches rough; 
Sweet is the Cypress, but his rind is tough. 
Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; 
Sweet is the Broome-flowere, but yet sowre enough ; 
And sweet is Moly, but his roote is ill. 
So every sweet with sowre is tempred still, 
That maketh it be coveted the more : 
For easie things that may be got at will. 
Most sorts of men doe set but little store. 
Why then should I account of little pain, 
That endless pleasure shall unto me gainer 
Spenser 
68 
