THE SONG OF THE ROSE.

I COME not when the earth is brown, and gray The skies; I am no flower of a day, No crocus I, to bloom and pass away; No cowslip bright, or hyacinth that clings Close to the earth, from whence it springs; Nor tulip, gay as song birds’ wings. I am the royal rose, and all things fair Grow fairer for my sake; the earth, the air, Proclaim the coming of the flower most rare. Green is the earth, and beautiful the sky, And soft the breeze, that loves to linger nigh; I am the rose, and who with me shall vie? The earth is full of gladness, all in tune With songs of birds; and now I come, O June, To crown thee, month of beauty, with my bloom. T. E. D.