Thus to the Rose, the Thistle:
Why art thou not of thistle-breed?
Of use thou'dst, then, be read more

Thus to the Rose, the Thistle:
Why art thou not of thistle-breed?
Of use thou'dst, then, be truly,
For asses might upon thee feed.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

She wore a wreath of roses,
The night that first we met.

Red as a rose of Harpocrate.

Red as a rose of Harpocrate.

Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its read more

Loveliest of lovely things are they
On earth that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.

A white rosebud for a guerdon.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

Till the rose's lips grow pale
With her sighs.

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, read more

O rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet,
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubblewheat,--
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

All June I bound the rose in sheaves,
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.