Poems; original and translated :: :: University of Virginia Library

Here is verdure and bloom on the bush and the tree,
And many a flower sweetly blows;
But one is the dearest of all to me;
Tis the joy of my heart, 'tis the Rose.
I have snowdrops fair, I have pansies rare,
I have daisies that carpet the ground,
The whitethorn of May with its delicate spray,
And woodbine that clusters around:
But the flower of my soul hath a lustre more bright,
And a loveliness deeper than those;
The pride of the garden, the summer's delight,
Oh! the queen of them all is the Rose.

The lily her head with gracefulness rears,
The tulip with rich scarlet glows,
A mantle of gold the daffodil wears;
Yet none may compare with the Rose.
This darling of mine, her blush is divine;
She smiles like the Goddess of day;
I feast on the bliss of her dewy kiss,
Till it charms my sense away.

I gaze upon each of my beautiful flowers,
As their bud and their bloom they disclose;
I blend them in garlands, I twine them in bowers;
In my bosom I carry the Rose.

The summer is short, and the winter must come
With her hail and her storm and her snows;
And things that are fairest in our pleasant home
Must wither alike with the Rose:
The perishing green of this sylvan scene
Bleak winds of November shall sweep,
The glories of June on earth shall be strewn,
And flowers in their cold bed shall sleep:
But whilst I have life, my love shall endure;
Like a fountain for ever that flows,
Like a sunbeam that shines immortal and pure,
Is the love of my heart for the Rose.