The Half-Blown Rose

By Frances Sargent Locke Osgood

Suggested by a portrait.

'Tis just the flower she ought to wear, --
The simple flower the painter chose;
And are they not a charming pair --
The modest girl -- the half-blown rose?

The glowing bud has stolen up
With tender smile and blushing grace,
And o'er its mossy clasping cup
In bashful pride reveals its face.

The maiden too, with timid feet,
Has sprung from childhood's verdant bower,
And lightly left its limit sweet,
For woman's lot of shine and shower.

See! from its veil of silken hair,
That bathes her cheek in clusters bright,
Her sweet face, like a blossom fair,
Reveals its wealth of bloom and light.

How softly blends with childhood's smile
That maiden-mien of pure repose!
Oh! seems she not herself the while --
A breathing flower -- a half-blown rose?