nds of thorns hidden.It covets the passerby to tread, But fear of fatal prick is smitten.O???! the innocent soul cannot see at allBeneath the flowers thorns concealedOf social, legal, and nuptial; Of caste, race and creed. (7) My heart is a sacred shrineConsecrated there the image of thine, Though unseen and undefined, But curved out of imaginary line; And your name my beats chant with rhymeEveryd