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William Browne

The Rose

A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,
Grew in a little garden all alone;
A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth,
Nor fairer garden yet was never known:
The maidens danced about it morn and noon,
And learned bards of it their ditties made;
The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon
Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade.
But well-a-day!—the gardener careless grew;
The maids and fairies both were kept away,
And in a drought the caterpillars threw
Themselves upon the bud and every spray.
    God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,
    The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

 
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About the poet
William Browne
 
By the same poet
A Welcome
The Sirens' Song
Song
Memory
Epitaph: In Obitum M.S. Xº Maij, 1614
Epitaph: On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke
 
Related books
William Browne at amazon.com


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