TELL-TALE
The Lily whispered to the Rose:
“The Tulip’s fearfully stuck up.
You’d think, to see the creature’s pose,
She were a golden altar-cup.
There’s method in her boldness, too;
She catches twice her share of Dew.”
The Rose into the Tulip’s ear
Murmured: “The Lily is a sight;
Don’t you believe she powders, dear,
To make herself so saintly white?
She takes some trouble, it is plain,
Her reputation to sustain.”
Said Tulip to the Lily white:
“About the Rose—what do you think?—
Her colour? Should you say it’s quite—
Well, quite a natural shade of pink?”
“Natural!” the Lily cried. “Good Saints!
Why, everybody knows she paints!”