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I thought 'twould ope a week ago,
 And placed it in the sun;
But then I found it would not blow
 Till the birth of Washington.

Then when I'm sad and sick at heart,
 O bring to me a rose;
Sweet consolation it imparts,
 And rich perfume bestows.
Thrice welcome are you, beauteous flower,
 To cheer our home on this great day;
So emblematic of our power—
 Bud, blossom, then decay.