Song of the Rose

IF Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,

      He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;

For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,

      Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!

For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,

      Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,—

Is the lightning of beauty, that strikes through the bowers

      On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.

Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup

      To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!

Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world

      Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,

As they laugh to the Wind as it laughs from the west.

From Achilles Tatius.