 | The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes |  |
XIII. Rosily dying.
I'll take that fainting roseOut of his breast; perhaps some sigh of his
Lives in the gyre of its kiss-coloured leaves.
O pretty rose, hast thou thy flowery passions
Then put thyself into a scented rage,
And breathe on me some poisonous revenge.
For it was I, thou languid, silken blush,
Who orphaned thy green family of thee,
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My life, and spread it on thy shrunken petals,
And give to me thy pink, reclining death.
| The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | |