








POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
THE WILD ROSE. 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE, 
A Boy espied, in morning light, 
A little rose-bud blowing ; 
*Twas so delicate and bright, 
That he came to feast his sight, 
And wonder at its growing. 
Rose-bud, rose-bud, rose-bud red, 
Rose-bud brightly blowing ! 
I will gather thee—he cried— 
Rose-bud brightly blowing! 
hen I’ll sting thee, it replied, 
And you'll quickly start aside 
With the prickle glowing. 
Rose-bud, rose-bud, rose-bud red, 
Rose-bud brightly blowing! 
But he pluck’d it from the plain, 
The rose-bud brightly blowing! 
Tt turned and stung him, but in vain~ 
Ile regarded not the pain, 
Homeward with it going. 
Rose-bud, rosé-bud, rose-bud red, 
Rose-bud brightly blowing! 
