The Rose. Poem by Robert Anderson

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

O lady, mark that blooming Rose,
The fairest flow'r the Sun shines on!
To--day, the garden's pride it blows,
To--morrow, all its sweets are gone!
The fairest emblem of the fair
To blighting storms must fall a prey;
And tho' of joys thou hast thy share,
Thy prime is but a Summer day!

And mark that roving artful bee,
The gaudy type of villain man;
Alas! what flutt'ring crowds we see
With wily snares thy sex trepan!
Robb'd of its sweets, the matchless flow'r
Soon withers, droops, and faded lies;
Thus, won by love's deceitful lure,
The thoughtless beauty pines, and dies!