To a Rose

Ah, sweet bonny flower face That sits outside my door Nodding in the eve time Waking gently in the morn Nothing so pretty as your pink-tipped petals Nor as fragrant as you, my rose Your very existence is poetry Sprung up in a garden of prose Ah, but my lacy lillies Sigh enviously at your grace And all my quiet pansies Wish silently for your face But only you are the queen of flowers Beautiful now and forever more You, sweet bonny flower face Who sits outside my door.