In silence blooms the Summer rose,
With damask cheek and odorous breath,
And ne'er a ruddy leaf that blows
Whispers of canker or of death:
But sweetly smiles the lovely flower
All through the sunshine warm and gay,
And tells not of the canker-dower
That eats its inmost heart away.

In gladness rolls the river bright
Down through the meadow grassy-green,
With ripples full of laughing light
That wake with joy the sunny scene.
From morn till morn, with cheery tread,
The stream walks on with ne'er a sigh,
Nor tells of pebbles hard and dead
That deep below the surface lie.