My Pretty Rose Tree
by William Blake (1757 - 1827)

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 turn'd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.

Read more about William Blake at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Is it possible
to win back
a lost love?