9.

My Roses.

My luck's good—I'd make yours fairer,
(Good luck ever needs a sharer),
Will you stop and pluck my roses?

Oft mid rocks and thorns you'll linger,
Hide and stoop, suck bleeding finger—
Will you stop and pluck my roses?

For my good luck's a trifle vicious,
Fond of teasing, tricks malicious—
Will you stop and pluck my roses?

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