Nobody knows this little Rose

Nobody knows this little Rose –

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.

Only a Bee will miss it –

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey –

On its breast to lie –

Only a Bird will wonder –

Only a Breeze will sigh –

Ah Little Rose – how easy

For such as thee to die!

By Emily Dickinson