Hail, lovely rose, to thee I sing

Hail, lovely rose, to thee I sing, Thou sweetest daughter of the spring, Thy beauties charm the Gods above, Thy fragrance is the breath of love.

The rose, the smiling graces wear, A trophy in their flowing hair; The rose the queen of beauty loves, And crown'd with wreaths more graceful moves.

Of all the flow'rs upon the plains, The rose unmatch'd in beauty reigns; Louisa thus in charms excels, She shines a rose among the belles.