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I grew a rose within a garden fairAnd tend it, with more than loving care,I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,I should the darkness of my life illume;And watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud,Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.My rose began to open, and its hueWas sweet to me as to it, sun and dew;I watched it taking on its ruddy flameUntil the day of perfect blooming came,Then, hasted I with smiles, to find it blushing red--Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked myrose and fled!
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