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Joseph Cross

Fair Rose

Fair rose, fair rose, so sweet and soft,
Just as the skin of a new born babe,
Thy beauty grows as day goes by,
The danger wakes in thy razor thorns.
How, oh how can a creature so beauteous,
Hold such dire treacherousness?
Thou hast drawn me in so close,
Just outside thy painful touch,
When desire outgrows sense,
And thy thorn doth bring red stain.
Fair rose, fair rose, so sweet and soft,
How can thy beauty hold such great pain?

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