Go Rose, My Chloe'S Bosom Grace: How Happy Should I Prove, Could I Supply That Envied Place With Never-Fading Love. Accept, Dear Maid, Now Summer Glows, This Pure, Unsullied Gem, Love'S Emblem In A Full-Blown Rose, Just Broken From The Stem. Accept It As A Favourite Flower For Thy Soft Breast To Wear; 'Twill Blossom There Its Transient Hour, A Favourite Of The Fair. Upon Thy Cheek Its Blossom Glows, As From A Mirror Clear, Making Thyself A Living Rose, In Blossom All The Year. It Is A Sweet And Favourite Flower To Grace A Maiden'S Brow, Emblem Of Love Without Its Power-- A Sweeter Rose Art Thou. The Rose, Like Hues Of Insect Wing, May Perish In An Hour; 'T Is But At Best A Fading Thing, But Thou'Rt A Living Flower. The Roses Steeped In Morning Dews Would Every Eye Enthrall, But Woman, She Alone Subdues; Her Beauty Conquers All.