Explore "The Rose" by James Whitcomb Riley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; / And the sun, like a bashful swain, / Beamed on it through the waving trees / With a passion all in vain, -- / For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, / And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The honey-bee came there to sing / His love through the languid hours, / And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king / Might boast of his palace-towers: / But my rose bowed in a mockery, / And hid in the leaves in wait for me.