De Rege: Canto V

A Rose the king of flowers?
How befitting-as Greeks say-thy name,
That thou shouldst adorn my bowers
To watch and govern me in my shame.
As thou lookest far below and down
And stare unmoved at my naked core.
But thou dost not wear the imperial crown,
Thou art king of thy soul alone, nothing more.
Fear not, my little flower, for not yet
Shall I pluck upon thy pretty petals
When thy thorns let red rivers run wet
But wait until the sore wound settles
Then shall I take from thee
All thou darest tear from me.

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