I Grew A Rose Once More To Please Mine Eyes. All Things To Aid It--Dew, Sun, Wind, Fair Skies-- Were Kindly; And To Shield It From Despoil, I Fenced It Safely In With Grateful Toil. No Other Hand Than Mine Shall Pluck This Flower, Said I, And I Was Jealous Of The Bee That Hovered Nigh. It Grew For Days; I Stood Hour After Hour To Watch The Slow Unfolding Of The Flower, And Then I Did Not Leave Its Side At All, Lest Some Mischance My Flower Should Befall. At Last, Oh Joy! The Central Petals Burst Apart. It Blossomed--But, Alas! A Worm Was At Its Heart!