"I will gather thee, he cried,
Rosebud brightly blowing!
Then I'll sting thee, it replied,
And you'll quickly start aside
With the prickle glowing.
Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,
Rosebud brightly blowing!"
—Goethe—translated.
"Nurse, wash my hair," says Lilian, entering her nurse's sanctum, which is next her own, one lovely morning early in September when
"Dew is on the lea,