AN AMARANTH planted in a garden near a Rose-Tree, thus addressed it: —
“What a lovely flower is the Rose, a favorite alike with Gods and with men. —
I envy you your beauty and your perfume. —
” The Rose replied, “I indeed, dear Amaranth, flourish but for a brief season! —
If no cruel hand pluck me from my stem, yet I must perish by an early doom. —
But thou art immortal and dost never fade, but bloomest for ever in renewed youth.”