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The Rose Foreign Language

Child of the Summer charming Rose, No longer in confinement lie; Arise to light; thy form disclose; Rival the spangles of the sky. The rains are gone; the storms are o'er; Winter retires to make thee way: Come then, thou sweetly blushing flower, Come, lovely stranger, come away. The sun is dress'd in beaming smiles To give thy beauties to the day: Young Zephyrs wail with gentle gales To fourthy bosom, as they play.