A book of Bristol sonnets | ||
115
TO A RED ROSE,
GROWING AT ASHLEY GRANGE.
Only at night she wept; for with the dayEarth's lightsomeness filled full her maiden heart!
In gifts for many she forgot her smart;
And charming others, charmed her woes away!
Each morn new words her opening lips would say;
And if with curl of scorn those lips would part,
And if the blood into her cheeks would start,
It was because rude feet had passed her way!
She loved not well the prying daylight's stare,
And fainted pale beneath the great sun's eye;
But her sweet breath made perfume of the air
When stars peeped out, and modest dews went by!
So in her damask casket kept she close
Her golden dreams of light and love; my rose!
A book of Bristol sonnets | ||