Why the Blush Rose is Imperfect

by Sarah T. Bolton, 1873

A white rose, from her morning dream
   Awakened by the amorous air,
Beheld her image in a stream,
   And blushed to see herself so fair.

Then proudly tossed her regal head
   And spread her bosom to the sky,
And, whispering to herself, said:
   "Behold how beautiful am I!"

And thus it was at day's eclipse,
   A zephyr found her proud and vain;
Touched her bright petals with his lips,
   And left thereon a burning stain.

The beauty felt the smart, and cried:
   "Though thou has kissed me to betray,
The dew will come at eventide
   And wash the cruel stain away."

But never dew nor summer rain
   Could her lost purity restore;
And still she wears the fatal stain
   That mars her beauty evermore.

Sarah :: Plucky in Love

Sarah, aka "Plucky", blogs on the reg, unless she's on vacation or there's a Pretty Little Liars marathon or she's mulling over the implications of the phrase "on fleek." She can't live without iced coffee, a portable phone charger, or equal pay. Say hello!

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