Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/206

 LXXI

The Rose

HY do you leave me always here?

For me no usefulness is found;

I have no beauty anywhere;

Will you not tear me from the ground?

The Gardener

Watch ye the lilies how they grow,

They neither toil nor make complaint.

Look at their gentleness, and know

They are a strength to stay the faint.

The Rose

I do not see the lilies, Lord,

And I am weary of this waste.

The Gardener

Watch ye the grass upon the sward;

The lily never grows in haste.

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