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.
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