O Rose! of the flowers, I ween, thou art fairest,

But thorny and worthless the stem that thou bearest,

Fleeting thy beauty, unlovely thy fruit;

World, I would liken thee unto the roses,

Sweet are thy flatteries, sad are their closes,

Virtue and goodness in thee have no root.

Red is the berry, O Rose! on thy bushes,

Harsh is its inside, though fairly it blushes;

So, World, dost thou lure us and mock us with lies:

Outside thy seeming is gracious and sunny,

Outside thy greetings are sweet as the honey,

Bitter thy kernel;--O man, then be wise!