Every Rose Hath Its Thorn.

There was a maiden all forlorn,             She loved a youth, his name was Thorn,             But he was shy for to disclose             How he loved dear the sweet May Rose.             Lustre sweet it would give to Thorn,             If this fair flower would it adorn,             Said he all other names above             Your charming name alone I love.             Said she of beauty 'tis soon shorn,             Unless that it is joined to Thorn,             It very soon doth droop and die,             And she heaved a gentle sigh.             Said he we'll wed to-morrow morn,             No more from me you shall be torn,             For you will banish all my woes,             And near my heart I'll wear the rose.             Now little rose buds they are born,             All clinging to the parent Thorn,             In grace and beauty each one grows,             Full worthy of the sweet May Rose.             Some flowers they only shed their bloom             In the sweet month of leafy June,             But May doth bloom each month in year             A fragrant Rose forever dear.