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Poetry 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.