The rose is such a lady—
So stately, fresh, and sweet;
It joys to hold her image—
The rain pool at her feet.
They look such common lasses,
Those red pinks in a line;
The rose is such a lady—
So dignified and fine.
The winds would wish to kiss her,
And yet they scarcely dare;
The rose is such a lady—
So courteous, pure, and fair.
Here's one come from a garden
To die within this book—
See, in the faded features
The old lady-like look!