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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=426492" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Rose</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=426492" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The rose thou show'st me has lost all its hue,<br>For thou dost seem to me than it less fair;<br>For when I look I turn from it to you,<br>And feel the flower has been thine only care;<br>Thou could'st have grown as freely by its side<br>As spring these buds from out the parent stem,<br>But thou art from thy Father severed wide,<br>And turnest from thyself to look at them,<br>Thy words, do not perfume the summer air,<br>Nor draw the eye and ear like this thy flower;<br>No bees shall make thy lips their daily care,<br>And sip the sweets distilled from hour to hour;<br>Nor shall new plants from out thy scattered seed,<br>O'er many a field the eye with beauty feed.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Jones+Very">Jones Very</a></strong></div>

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