To draw the rose; and every rose she drew,
She shook the stalk, and brush’d away the dew;
Then parti-colored flowers of white and red
She wove, to make a garland for her head:
This done, she sung and carrol’d out so clear,
That men and angels might rejoice to hear:
Our wandering Philomel forgot to sing,
And learned from her to welcome in the spring.
John Dryden.
