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.

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

The full-blown rose, mid dewy sweets
Most perfect dies.

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it, what matter?

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.

Red as a rose of Harpocrate.

Red as a rose of Harpocrate.

Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

Rose were sette of swete savour,
With many roses that thei bere.

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

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

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.

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.