University of Virginia Library

IX. Roses.

Sad, and sweet, and wise,
Here a child reposes,
Dust is on his eyes,
Quietly he lies,—
Satan, strew Roses!’

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Weeping low, creeping slow,
Came the Weary-wingëd!
Roses red over the dead
Quietly he flingëd.
‘I am old,’ he thought,
‘And the world's day closes;
Pale and fever-fraught,
Sadly have I brought
These blood-red Roses.’
By his side the mother came
Shudderingly creeping;
The Devil's and the woman's heart
Bitterly were weeping.
‘Swift he came and swift he flew,
Hopeless he reposes;
Waiting on is weary too,—
Wherefore on his grave we strew
Bitter, withering Roses.’
The Devil gripped the woman's heart,
With gall he staunched its bleeding;
Far away, beyond the day,
The Lord heard interceding.
‘Lord God, One in Three!
Sure Thy anger closes;
Yesterday I died, and see
The Weary-wingëd over me
Bitterly streweth Roses.’
The voice cried out, ‘Rejoice! rejoice!
There shall be sleep for evil!’
And all the sweetness of God's voice
Passed strangely through the Devil.