THE ROSE.

Mark, Laura, dearest, yonder rose

Its inner folds are sad and pale, love;

While blushing, outward leaves disclose

A lively crimson to the gale, love.

Yet as the secret canker-worm

Preys deeply on its drooping heart, love,

Soon from the flow'ret's with'ring form

Will all that vivid glow depart, love.

Then turn to me those beaming eyes—

A blooming cheek although you see, love,

Since hope is fled, then pleasure dies,

And read the rose's fate in me, love.