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."