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The blushing Rose,
The nightingale's young and gentle bride,
Her delicate leaves begun to unclose,
And spread to the sunshine her grace and pride;
And then she spoke,
In tones that like audible perfume broke
On the wingless air—and each other flower
Bent in listening mood on her slender stalk,
To hear the Rose and the Fairy talk.
THE ROSE.
"Beautiful spirit!—what grief is thine?
Why doth thine eye
With less love and joy on thy children shine?
Why doth thy sigh
Bid each petaled bosom to heave with fear?
What raiseth our Fairy's anger here?
Do we not ever rejoice to greet
Thy guardian love
With tributes of homage? Beneath thy feet,
O'er lawn and grove,
Do we not lift up our heads to bless
Our Fairy's fond care and loveliness?
How have thy children displeased thee,
Loved Fairy, tell:
Oh! look now around thee, Fairy, see
Each bud and bell,
