<h2><SPAN name="page108"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>TWO ROSES</h2>
<p class="poetry">A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,<br/>
Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet,<br/>
Beside a Jacqueminot’s royal splendour,<br/>
And both in my lady’s boudoir lay.</p>
<p class="poetry">Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning,<br/>
“I wonder why you are called a rose?<br/>
Your leaves will fade in a single morning;<br/>
No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Your coarse green stalk shows dust of
the highway,<br/>
You have no depths of fragrant bloom;<br/>
And what could you learn in a rustic byway<br/>
To fit you to lie in my lady’s room?</p>
<p class="poetry">“If called to adorn her warm, white
bosom,<br/>
What have you to offer for such a place,<br/>
Beside my fragrant and splendid blossom,<br/>
Ripe with colour and rich with grace?”</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page109"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
109</span>Said the sweet wild-rose, “Despite your dower<br/>
Of finer breeding and deeper hue,<br/>
Despite your beauty, fair, high-bred flower,<br/>
It is I who should lie on her breast, not you.</p>
<p class="poetry">“For small account is your hot-house
glory<br/>
Beside the knowledge that came to me<br/>
When I heard by the wayside love’s old story<br/>
And felt the kiss of the amorous bee.”</p>
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