The virgin has her image in the rose
Sheltered in garden on its native stock,
Which there in solitude and safe repose,
Blooms unapproached by shepherd or by flock.
For this earth teams, and freshing water flows,
And breeze and dewy dawn their sweets unlock:
With such the wishful youth his bosom dresses,
With such the enamoured damsel braids her tresses.
But wanton hands no sooner this displace
From the maternal stem, where it was grown,
Than all is withered ; whatsoever grace
It found with man or heaven ; bloom, beauty, gone.

Ariosto: Orlando Furioso, I 42-3 (Tr. William Stewart Rose, 1823)

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