ROSE, DAMASK. Lovely and Pure. 
THE GARDEN OF FRIENDSHIP. 
They say I am robbing myself, 
But they know not how sweet is my gain, 
For I’m weeding my garden of Friendship, 
’Till only its flowers remain. 
They say if I weed from it all 
That are worldly, ignoble, untrue, 
I shall save not a leaf for my heart; 
But they shake not my faith in the few. 
I waste not the pure dew of Feeling, 
I waste not the warm light of-Love 
On worthless intruders, upstealing 
To poison the beauty above. 
Too pure is the peace, and too holy 
For Falsehood and Sin to profane, 
And I heed not how few or how lowly 
The blooms that unsullied remain. 
Though lone and apart in their sweetness, 
Those heart-cherished blossoms may be, 
While they smile in the sunlight of Truth, 
They suffice to affection and me. 
And you, in your delicate bloom, love, 
Pure, tender, and graceful and true, 
Shall be the queen-rose of my garden, 
And live on Love’s sunshine and dew. 
No parasite plant shall be nourished, 
My bower’s sunny beauty to stain, 
For I’ll weed the fair garden of Friendship 
Till only its flowers remain. 
F. S. O. 
