Your Name: Your E-mail: Friends Name: Friends E-mail: a Poem: A flower was offered to me: Such a flower as May never bore. But I said "I've a Pretty Rose-tree", And I passed the sweet flower o'er. Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree: To tend her by day and by night. But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy: And her thorns were my only delight. /By: William Blake (1757 - 1827)/ Message: Found on this website: