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 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 the flower had not?