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The rose is such a lady—
  So stately, fresh, and sweet;
It joys to hold her image—
  The rain pool at her feet.

They look such common lasses,
  Those red pinks in a line;
The rose is such a lady—
  So dignified and fine.

The winds would wish to kiss her,
  And yet they scarcely dare;
The rose is such a lady—
  So courteous, pure, and fair.

Here's one come from a garden
  To die within this book—
See, in the faded features
  The old lady-like look!