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The blushing Rose, 
The nightingale’s young and gentle bride. 
Her delicate leaves begun to unclose. 
And spread to the sunshine her grace and pride ; 
And then she spoke. 
In tones that like audible perfume broke 
On tire wingless air—and each other flower 
Bent in listening mood on her slender stalk. 
To hear the Rose and the Fairy talk. 
THE ROSE. 
“ Beautiful spirit!—what grief is thine ? 
Why doth thine eye 
With less love and joy on thy children shine ? 
Why doth thy sigh 
Bid each petaled bosom to heave with fear ? 
What raiseth our Fairy’s anger here ? 
Do we not ever rejoice to greet 
Thy guardian love 
With tributes of homage ? Beneath thy feet. 
O’er lawn and grove. 
Do we not lift up our heads to bless 
Our Fairy’s fond care and loveliness ? 
How have thy children displeased thee. 
Loved Fairy, tell: 
Oh ! look now around thee. Fairy, see 
Each bud and bell. 
