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the half-blown rose.
Now rush to that cheek its soft dimples to warm,
How deepen the crimson that lives in your lips.
How deepen the crimson that lives in your lips.
Will you tell me again, with that scorn-lighted eye,
That you do not use paint—while such tinting is there?
While the glow still arms what the glance would deny?
No! in future disclaim the sweet theft if you dare!
That you do not use paint—while such tinting is there?
While the glow still arms what the glance would deny?
No! in future disclaim the sweet theft if you dare!
THE HALF-BLOWN ROSE.
suggested by a portrait.
'Tis just the flower she ought to wear,—
The simple flower the painter chose;
And are they not a charming pair—
The modest girl—the half-blown rose?
The simple flower the painter chose;
And are they not a charming pair—
The modest girl—the half-blown rose?
