 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE ROSE AND SPARROW.
In yonder window a scented rose
In all its stately beauty grows;
Open its buds in a leatherny fold,
With a flush of cream on a base of gold;
The yellow-green of its mossy leaves
A tinge of blue from the sky receives;
And never, it seems, it so befell
For a rose to be tended half so well;
Yet a murmur ever from it goes,
And this is the plaint of the luckless rose:
In all its stately beauty grows;
Open its buds in a leatherny fold,
With a flush of cream on a base of gold;
The yellow-green of its mossy leaves
A tinge of blue from the sky receives;
And never, it seems, it so befell
For a rose to be tended half so well;
Yet a murmur ever from it goes,
And this is the plaint of the luckless rose:
“Here in thrall where my lady sits,
While yonder sparrow freely flits—
Here where the rushing crowd moves past,
A cruel fate has bound me fast,
Never the garden fair to know
Where my happy sisters bud and blow,
And painted butterflies come and go,
But doomed to waste my beauty rare
On the dusky city's smoky air.
What to me that my lady here
Holds me petted and sweet and dear—
Culls my buds for her hair of gold
As each were a gem of worth untold?
Better a wilder life would be,
To bloom in the garden fresh and free;
Better to pass one summer there,
And then to die in the wintry air,
Than live forever in cold confine
In this hateful dungeon-cell of mine.
I am sick of my lady's well-pleased gaze,
I am tired of my lady's winning ways,
I shrink from my lady's gentle touch—
Gaze, ways, and touch—they irk me much.”
While yonder sparrow freely flits—
Here where the rushing crowd moves past,
A cruel fate has bound me fast,
Never the garden fair to know
Where my happy sisters bud and blow,
And painted butterflies come and go,
But doomed to waste my beauty rare
On the dusky city's smoky air.
What to me that my lady here
Holds me petted and sweet and dear—
Culls my buds for her hair of gold
As each were a gem of worth untold?
Better a wilder life would be,
To bloom in the garden fresh and free;
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And then to die in the wintry air,
Than live forever in cold confine
In this hateful dungeon-cell of mine.
I am sick of my lady's well-pleased gaze,
I am tired of my lady's winning ways,
I shrink from my lady's gentle touch—
Gaze, ways, and touch—they irk me much.”
In yonder street, with his pinions free,
A sparrow is flitting from curb to tree;
He twitters and chatters and hops and flies,
But casts above his envious eyes;
Pattering over the well-paved ground,
Careless is he of the crowd around;
Hither he comes, and thither he goes,
Yet still complains of the lucky rose:
A sparrow is flitting from curb to tree;
He twitters and chatters and hops and flies,
But casts above his envious eyes;
Pattering over the well-paved ground,
Careless is he of the crowd around;
Hither he comes, and thither he goes,
Yet still complains of the lucky rose:
“Pleasantly housed in his palace fair,
The pampered rose is devoid of care;
Evermore there in his gilded vase,
Part of the glories of the place;
Ever attended, night and morn,
While I in the street must flit forlorn
Through a crowd that pity and smile and scorn.
I am condemned my food to find
In the pelting rain and piercing wind,
Through sunlight blazing or chilling snow,
Wandering, homeless to and fro;
While he is watered and trimmed and nurst
As of all plants he were counted the first.
Ah! why in his palace of ease should he
By my gentle lady so tended be,
While I must wander and toil to gain
Some crumbs of bread, some scattering grain?
Oh that a gilded cage were mine,
With morsels of cake and sops of wine,
By loving looks and words carest,
In lieu of this life of wild unrest!
For the sparrow arise a thousand woes:
Happy the lot of the pampered rose.”
The pampered rose is devoid of care;
Evermore there in his gilded vase,
Part of the glories of the place;
Ever attended, night and morn,
While I in the street must flit forlorn
Through a crowd that pity and smile and scorn.
I am condemned my food to find
In the pelting rain and piercing wind,
Through sunlight blazing or chilling snow,
Wandering, homeless to and fro;
While he is watered and trimmed and nurst
As of all plants he were counted the first.
Ah! why in his palace of ease should he
By my gentle lady so tended be,
While I must wander and toil to gain
Some crumbs of bread, some scattering grain?
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With morsels of cake and sops of wine,
By loving looks and words carest,
In lieu of this life of wild unrest!
For the sparrow arise a thousand woes:
Happy the lot of the pampered rose.”
And thus in the world it ever goes,
Rose would be sparrow, and sparrow be rose;
Those who are captives would fain be free,
And those in freedom would captive be;
But, spite of longing and woe and pain,
Sparrow and rose they ever remain.
Rose would be sparrow, and sparrow be rose;
Those who are captives would fain be free,
And those in freedom would captive be;
But, spite of longing and woe and pain,
Sparrow and rose they ever remain.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |