A Rose long flourish'd, fair to view,
In all the pride of bloom,
But, trampled on, soon lost its hue,
And wasted its perfume.

A sage beheld it as it lay,
A tender tear he shed,
And, Where thy colours once so gay?
He moralizing said.

Perhaps, said he, I at thy fate
Less griev'd might now repine;
But emblem of the mortal state,
My own I see in thine.