The Princess bids me write! what happy wit
Were fair enough this fair page to befit?
In Gulistan there lived a nightingale
Who, in 'mid singing, felt his music fail,
And said: “To Roses I make melody,
But, Rose of Roses! I am dumb for thee!”
So, England's Rose! that which our true hearts pray,
Let Silence, with her golden speaking, say.