(_For the Mirror._)
Mark, Laura, dearest, yonder rose
Its inner folds are sad and pale, love;
While blushing, outward leaves disclose
A lively crimson to the gale, love.
Yet as the secret canker-worm
Preys deeply on its drooping heart, love,
Soon from the flow'ret's with'ring form
Will all that vivid glow depart, love.
Then turn to me those beaming eyes--
A blooming cheek although you see, love,
Since hope is fled, then pleasure dies,
And read the rose's fate in me, love.
* * * * *