TELL-TALE

The Lily whispered to the Rose: “The Tulip’s fearfully stuck up. You’d think, to see the creature’s pose, She were a golden altar-cup. There’s method in her boldness, too; She catches twice her share of Dew.”

The Rose into the Tulip’s ear Murmured: “The Lily is a sight; Don’t you believe she powders, dear, To make herself so saintly white? She takes some trouble, it is plain, Her reputation to sustain.” Said Tulip to the Lily white: “About the Rose—what do you think?— Her colour? Should you say it’s quite— Well, quite a natural shade of pink?” “Natural!” the Lily cried. “Good Saints! Why, everybody knows she paints!”