THE ROSE aloft in sunny air, br Beloved alike by bird and bee, br Takes for the dark Root little care br That toils below it ceaselessly. br br I put my question to the flower: br “Pride of the Summer, garden queen, br Why livest thou thy little hour?” br And the Rose answered, “I am seen.” br br I put my question to the Root. br “I mine the earth content,” it said, br “A hidden miner underfoot: br I know a Rose is overhead.