Classic Poem

There was a garden fenced with glowing flowers,
Its queen's delight, and had we seen it, ours;
And once as Amor culled, when wandering there,
The richest chaplet for his flowing hair,
His hand was wounded by a hidden thorn.
Soon as he felt his tender fingers torn,
And saw the bloody hand, away he flies,
The large tear starting in his lovely eyes,
And to his mother thus he made his moan, —
" Whence have the roses, mother, hurtful grown?
Why bear thy flowers a sting? They are my foes —
One colour hath the blood and one the rose."

There was a garden fenced with glowing flowers,
Its queen's delight, and had we seen it, ours;
And once as Amor culled, when wandering there,
The richest chaplet for his flowing hair,
His hand was wounded by a hidden thorn.
Soon as he felt his tender fingers torn,
And saw the bloody hand, away he flies,
The large tear starting in his lovely eyes,
And to his mother thus he made his moan, —
" Whence have the roses, mother, hurtful grown?
Why bear thy flowers a sting? They are my foes —
One colour hath the blood and one the rose."