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PLEASURE WITHOUT ALLOY. 
MOSS ROSE. 
The rose that hails the morning, 
Arrayed in all its sweets, 
Its mossy couch adorning, 
The sun enamoured meets. 
The elegant moss rose is commonly sup¬ 
posed’to be the offspring of the Provence 
rose, though some consider it to belong to 
the family of hundred-leaved roses. It has 
ever been made the emblem of perfected joy ; 
Milton mentions it as “ without thorn, the 
rose ; ” and an anonymous writer has sung of 
it in that character. 
Oh ! I love the sweet blooming, the pretty moss rose, 
’Tis the type of true pleasure, and perfected joy; 
Oh ! I envy each insect that dares to repose 
’Midst its leaves, or among its soft beauties to toy. 
I love the sweet lily, so pure and so pale, 
With a bosom as fair as the new-fallen snows ; 
Her luxuriant odours she spreads through the vale, 
Yet e’en she must yield to my pretty moss rose. 
Oh ! I love the gay heart’s ease, and violet blue, 
The sun-flower and blue-bell, each floweret that 
blows, 
The fir-tree, the pine-tree, acacia, and yew, 
Yet e’en these must yield to my pretty moss rose. 
