The Rose

On yonder verdant shrub behold the rose,
In balmy redolence, its bloom disclose;
The silky leaves of the clysian flower,
Reflect the glory of the noontide hour,
And, gently waving in the Summer's gale,
Warmed by the sun, its richest scents exhale.
Around this perfect flower the rose-buds swell,
And promise future fragrance to the smell;
Beneath, green leaves the shapely branch adorn,
And seem to hide the finger-wounding thorn.
Ah! spare, ye passing youth, this tender bloom
Tho' tempted by its beauties and perfume,
Nor pluck this pride of Summer - but admire,
And so, in love, restrain each rash desire.
O! prize the rose-like virgin, nor betray
Her innocence - but, as the smiles of Day,
Cherish this blossom, so let faithful love
The beauties of the joyful fair improve.