THE ROSE.There climbs a rose; Like to herself it blooms full fair, Oft in the night of her raven hair Its crimson .glows. To me she has given many flowers, But ever on my suit she lowers When I propose; And vainly I have pled for hours To gain that rose. She turns the verse I fondly plan, To plainest prose; So now I find I'm not the man Who'll win the rose. ___Perlee R. Bennett
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