Flos Florae

Take thou this rose, O Rose! the loves in the rose repose:
I with love of the rose am caught at the winter's close:
Take thou this flower, my flower, and cherish it in thy bower:
Thou in thy beauty's power shalt lovelier blow each hour:
Gaze at the rose, and smile, my rose, in mine eyes the while:
To thee the roses belong, thy voice is the nightingale's song:
Give thou the rose a kiss, it blushes like thy mouth's bliss:
Flowers in a picture seem not flowers, but flowers in a dream:
Who paints the rose's bloom, paints not the rose's perfume.