Ever the Same

King Solomon walked a thousand times Forth of his garden-close; And saw there spring no goodlier thing, Be sure, than the same little rose.

Under the sun was nothing new, Or now, I well suppose. But what new thing could you find to sing More rare than the same little rose?

Nothing is new; save I, save you, And every new heart that grows, On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet Breath of the same little rose.