The lily has a smooth stalk,
Will never hurt your hand;
But the rose upon her brier
Is lady of the land.
There’s sweetness in an apple tree,
;;And profit in the corn;
But lady of all beauty
;;Is a rose upon a thorn.
When with moss and honey
;;She tips her bending brier,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
;;She sets the world on fire.