A ROSE which spied one Swallow Made haste to blush and blow : 'Others are sure to follow': Ah no, not so! The wandering clouds still owe A few fresh flakes of snow. Chill fog must fill the hollow. Before the bird-stream flow In flood across the main, And Winter's woe End in glad Summer come again. Then thousand flowers may blossom by the shore,''" But that Rose never more. |