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 doom1. But thou art immortal2 and dost never fade, but
bloomest for ever in renewed youth."
