My first the softest, loveliest grace
Nature to beauty gives;
While love and truth and modesty
Stay in the heart, it lives.
My second is so like my first,
My first its shadow seems;
It sweetens all the sunny day,
All night in fragrance dreams.
My whole, sweet one, I love to trace,
Soft glowing in that tell-tale face,
When Arthur whispers in your ear
Those “nothings” I must never hear:
Ah! then it comes, all warm and clear,
Your answering blush, Rose, my dear.
Blush-rose.