A paleness of grief o'er the lily

As a girl, my dad used to recite a poem to me that went:

Long, long ago, so they tell me
In a garden where nobody knows
There grew a lonely white lily
And a homely, old fashioned white rose.

They both were in love with the west wind
Quite why, I'm sure nobody knows
But the wind was in love with the lily
That grew by the side of the rose.

Along came the amorous west wind
Confused by the dark, I suppose
But the kiss that was meant for the lily
Was placed on the cheek of the rose.

Ever since then, so they tell me
Wherever a sweet garden grows
There's a paleness of grief o'er the lily
And a blush on the cheek of the rose.