|Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.|
|The spotless maid is like the blooming rose|
Which on its native stem unsullied grows.
|Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,|
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
|Maids are like contentment in this life,|
Which all the world have sought, but none enjoyd.
Sir John Davies
| A maiden is like a half-blown damask rose, fair as a dream and full of the sweet fragrance of the purity of dawning womanhood.|
Annie E. Lancaster