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THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
THE LITTLE RED ROSE, 
FROM GOETHE. 
A goy caught sight of a rose in a bower— 
A little rose slily hiding 
Among the boughs; O! the rose was bright 
And young, and it glimmer’d like morning light, 
he urchin sought it with haste; ’twas a flower 
A child indeed might take pride in— 
A little rose, little rose, little red rose, 
Among the bushes hiding. 
The wild boy shouted—‘‘ 1’ll pluck thee, rose, 
Little rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs;’’ but the little rose spoke— 
‘Tl prick thee, and that will prove no joke; 
Unhurt, O then will I mock thy woes, 
Whilst thou thy folly art chiding.” 
Little rose, little rose, little red rose, 
Among the bushes hiding ! 
But the rude boy laid his hands on the flower, 
The little rose vainly hiding 
Among the boughs; O, the rose was caught, 
But it turned again, and pricked and fought, 
And left with its spoiler a smart from that hour 
A pain for ever abiding ; 
Little rose, little rose, little red rose, 
Among the bushes hiding ! 




