ROSEBUD AND ROSE.

THE night before I sailed for Spain

We stood together, Rose and I,

Outside the ball-room, on the stairs,

And looked and spoke the last good-by.

I begged a flower, to me more fair

Than any other flower that blows.

With laughing eyes she bade me choose

A dainty rosebud, or a rose.

"Give me the bud," I quickly cried,

"No full-developed flower for me.

Youth, youth alone is fair; soon fades

The blossom of maturity."

Two years are past, and I return

To find my little rose in bloom;

A glorious creature, nobly wrought,

The handiwork of Nature's loom.

Another ball, and once again

We sit together, she and I;

I urge my suit, and show as proof

The faded bud of days gone by.

A blush, a sigh, a dainty hand;

The drooping eyelids half unclose:

"Why, Dick, you always used to say

You 'd never choose a full-blown rose."

K.