Wearied with his search, he determined to rest until the moon rose, when the fairies would come forth to dance upon the mossy banks. He looked about him for a resting place, and asked a stately lily to let him sleep on her broad leaves; but the petals were closed, and she would not receive him. Many flowers refused him shelter. At last, worn out and almost hopeless, he came to a rose. This lovely flower spread wide her soft, fragrant petals as a downy couch for the tired fairy.
After a quiet nap he awoke, rested and grateful, and asked the rose what return he could make for her kindness. The rose bowed her pretty head, and replied, “Make me more beautiful.”
The fairy looked at the rose blushing in the silvery moonlight, and wondered how she could be more lovely. Soon he noticed the dainty green moss at his feet, and drew a delicate veil of it over the rose.
L. Perrault (modern).
Cupid Asleep.
THE MOSS ROSE.
The angel of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay,—
That spirit to whose charge ’tis given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven;
Awaking from his light repose,
The angel whispered to the rose:
“O fondest object of my care,
Still fairest found, where all are fair;
For the sweet shade thou giv’st to me,
Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee.”
“Then,” said the rose, with deepened glow,
“On me another grace bestow.”
The spirit paused, in silent thought,—
What grace was there that flower had not?
’Twas but a moment,—o’er the rose
A veil of moss the angel throws;
And, robed in nature’s simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed?