The Rose

If it pleased the whim of Zeus in an idle Hour to choose a king for the flowers, he surely Would have crowned the rose for its regal beauty, Deeming it peerless;

Joy and pride of plants, and the garden’s glory, Beauty’s blush it brings to the cheek of meadows; Draining fire and dew from the dawn for rarest Color and odor;

Softly breathed, its scent is a plea for passion, When it blooms to welcome the kiss of Kypris; Sheathed in fragrant leaves its tremulous petals Laugh in the zephyr.