
42 POETRY OF 
O! 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 odors she spreads though the 
| vale, 
Yet e’en she must yield to my pretty moss 
rose. 
Mi O! I love the gay hearts-ease, and violet blue, 
The sun-flower and blue-bell, each flow’ret 
that blows, 
The fir-tree, the pine-tree, acacia, and yew ; 
Yet e’en these must yield to my pretty moss 
rose. 
| Yes, I love my moss rose, for it ne’er had a 
| thorn, 
"Tis the type of life’s pleasures, unmixed 
with its woes, 













