Venus a garden had, rose-bushes round —
Its lady's darling plot; once seen, beloved.
Her boy, in random haste to cull the blooms
And crown his tresses, pricked with pointed thorn
His marble fingers. Soon, as pain stabbed limbs
And blood-stained hand, the tear-drop bathed his eye.
In rage he seeks his mother with his plaints:
"Whence comes it, mother, that the roses hurt?
Whence fight thy flowers with hidden arms? They war
On me: the flower's hue is the same as blood!"
Publius Annius Florus (c.74 - ?) Egypt
Translated by J. Wight Duff and Arnold M. Duff
Source: Florus, Loeb Classical Library, 1934 (revised 1935)
thank you for sharing
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