On Receiving a Monthly Rose

Paestum! thy roses long ago,
All roses far above,
Twice in the year were call'd to blow
And braid the locks of Love.
He saw the city sink in dust,
Its rose's roots decay'd,
And cried in sorrow, " Find I must
Another for my braid."
First Cyprus, then the Syrian shore,
To Pharpar's lucid rill,
Did those two large dark eyes explore,
But wanted something still.
Damascus fill'd his heart with joy,
So sweet her roses were!
Fie cull'd them; but the wayward boy
Thought them ill worth his care.
" I want them every month," he cried,
" I want them every hour:
Perennial rose, and none beside,
Henceforth shall be my flower."