 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
III. I WALKED ONE SPRING DAY, WHILE YET WINDS WERE COLD.
I walked one spring day, while yet winds were cold,
Between the waning day and waxing night,
And the boughs strained and whirled in the wind's might.
I took a simple wild-flower in my hold,
And fair it was and delicate of mold,
And sweet to smell, and tremulous with light;
And something lurking in its petals white
Meant more to me than even its fragrance told.
Between the waning day and waxing night,
And the boughs strained and whirled in the wind's might.
I took a simple wild-flower in my hold,
And fair it was and delicate of mold,
And sweet to smell, and tremulous with light;
And something lurking in its petals white
Meant more to me than even its fragrance told.
Full long I held that flower, until one day
I came where queenliest, reddest roses grew;
Then from my hand afar the flower I threw,
Roses to gather. But, behold, this hour,
When roses and their thorn-stems strew the way,
I vainly seek for my lost woodland flower.
I came where queenliest, reddest roses grew;
Then from my hand afar the flower I threw,
Roses to gather. But, behold, this hour,
When roses and their thorn-stems strew the way,
I vainly seek for my lost woodland flower.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |