Never adorning the brow of the fair;
Seldom deemed worthy some corner to share
In the bouquets that are cast in the way
Princely feet tread on reception's proud day;
The glory of roses do not attain;
Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.
Answer the end by your Maker designed.
Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.
Those will most prize you who knew you the best.
Cover me o'er when I lie down to rest;