THE ROSE.
Reading edition
When dewy morn of balmy June Awakes and blushes in the East, When song birds pipe their sweetest tune And Nature spreads her grandest feast, Among the rare and fragrant plants Whose petals most of heaven disclose, In foremost rank—far in advance— There stands the sprightly, smiling rose. Its home is on the wide, wide plains, In valleys where wild torrents foam, In solitudes where silence reigns, And by the cotter's humble home. It cheers alike the rich and poor On Alpine heights, or by the sea, By castle wall or peasant's door— It justly claims ubiquity. Could blushing beauty born of heaven, Or world-wide worship win the prize, Could fragrance, fancy, fame, or even The rich rays of reflected skies Soothe sorrows sharp and scorching sting And give the world complete repose, Then men should shout and children sing— "The flower of State must be the Rose!"