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Rose-trees four grew by the wall, Beautiful each, but different all: One with that pure but crimson flush That marks the maiden's first love blush; By its side grew another one, Pale as the snow of the funeral stone; The next was rich with the damask dye Of a monarch's purple drapery; And the last had leaves like those leaves of gold Worked on that drapery's royal fold. Three or four vases, with blossoms filled, Like censers of incense, their fragrance distilled; Lilies, heaped like the pearls of the sea, Peeped from their large leaves' security; Hyacinths with their graceful bells, Where the spirit of odour dwells