AN AMARANTH planted in a garden near a Rose-Tree, thus addressed
it: 'What a lovely flower is the Rose, a favorite alike with Gods
and with men. I envy you your beauty and your perfume.' The Rose
replied, 'I indeed, dear Amaranth, flourish but for a brief
season! If no cruel hand pluck me from my stem, yet I must perish
by an early doom. But thou art immortal and dost never fade, but
bloomest for ever in renewed youth.'