Rosa

Under roses slept the maiden Rosa, And a rose fell down and waken’d Rosa; To the flower-rose, said the maiden Rosa— “Rose of mine! O fall not on the maiden, I am in no tune of soul to love thee, For a heavy grief o’erwhelms my spirit; Youth would have me,—but old age hath won me. An old bridegroom is a worthless maple; When the wind is up it faints and trembles; When the rain descends, decay decays it: But a young bride, is a roselet budding; When the wind is up, its fair leaves open, When the rain descends, it shines in beauty,— When the sun comes forth, it smiles and glories.”