  There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine, There are roses that grow on a stalk; But my little Rose Grows on ten little toes, So I'll take my Rose out for a walk. Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy, Come visit your cousins, child, with me! If you are my daughter, it stands to reason Your own Mother Rosebush I must be. Now, here is your cousin Damask, Rosy! And, Rosy, here is your cousin Blush; General Jacqueminot, (Your uncle, you know,) Salutes you hero with his crimson flush. Here's Gloire de Dijon, a splendid fellow, All creamy and dreamy and soft and sweet; And Cloth-of-Gold, with his coat of yellow, Is dropping rose-nobles here at your feet. My Baltimore Belle, my Queen of the Prairie, Now, why are your ladyships looking so cross? Lord Butterfly, see! And Sir Honey de Bee, Have deserted them both for your sweet cousin Moss. All! MarÉchal Niel, I am glad to observe, sir, You train up your buds in the way they should go, All buttoned up close; while careless Niphetos Lets her children go fluttering to and fro. You whitest beauty, what is your name, now? "Snow Queen?" Ay, and it suits you well! And yonder, I see, Is my friend Cherokee, Who will not stop climbing, his name to tell; And hero and there are blushing and blowing Crimson and yellow and white and pink; Pale or angry, gleaming or glowing. The whole world's turning to roses, I think. Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine, And sweet is the rose on the tree; But there's only one Rose That has ten little toes, And she is the Rose for me. Come, put on your calyx, Rosy Posy, Put on your calyx and come with me; For if you are my daughter, it stands to reason, Your own Mother Rosebush I must be. |
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