48
THE FLORAL
ROSE.
As fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
As sweet as the evening among the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea.
As sweet as the evening among the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea.
Burns.
A merrier man, within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal.
Shakspeare.
