Poems of William Blake

 My pretty rose tree

 A flower was offered to me,
   Such a flower as May never bore;
 But I said “I’ve a pretty rose tree,”
   And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

 Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
   To tend her by day and by night;
 But my rose turned away with jealousy,
   And her thorns were my only delight.