What tidings wonderful of untold bliss!
For all the world her ransom could not earn.”
And when the sun into the Ram had passed,
The thunder rolled, the storm-clouds broke in showers;
Myriads of blossoms o’er the earth were cast:—
He sought the Rose—she was not of those flowers.
Until one morn he saw her foliage green,
Lovely and fresh as it had been before:
The Rose was hidden in a silken screen
And every flower worshipped her once more.