TWO ROSES

LOUISE KNIGHT WHEATLEY.

A rosebud fair in a garden grew,
Tiny and pale and shy.
The sun shone out of a sky of blue,
And the soft winds floated by,
But it wrapped itself in its petals cold,
And seemed to say, "I will not unfold."

A woman came in the sunset light—
"O shy little rose," she cried,
"Why don't you open your eyes, and smile?
Is it laziness, temper, or pride?
The spring is here, and the world is glad,
Why do you look so pale and sad?"

A day went by, and the rose still hid
Its face in its veil of green—
"You poor little thing!" she said to herself,
"It is very plain to be seen
That you never can grow to be big and strong,
Unless I help the work along."