AN AMARANTH planted in a garden near a Rose-Tree, thus addressed it:
“What a lovely flower is the Rose, a favourite alike with Gods and with
men. I envy you your beauty and your perfume.” The Rose replied, “I
indeed, dear Amaranth, flourish but for a brief season! If no cruel
hand pluck me from my stem, yet I must perish by an early doom. But
thou art immortal and dost never fade, but bloomest for ever in renewed
youth.”