 | Knitting-work |  |
ODORLESS ROSES.
A rose of rarest beauty met my view,
Half in the verdant dewy foliage lying;
I strove to reach it, but too high it grew,
And the fair flower escaped my earnest trying.
At last, a ladder gained, I plucked the prize,
And deemed myself well paid for toil expended;
Alas! I found it only pleased the eyes, —
No fragrant odor with its beauty blended!
And then this moral crossed my vision's disc:
That there are human roses brightly blooming,
For which men neck and peace together risk,
But find, when gained, no gentle heart-perfuming, —
No breathing sweets amid the flower they 've won,
And feel the sense of being severely “done.”
Half in the verdant dewy foliage lying;
I strove to reach it, but too high it grew,
And the fair flower escaped my earnest trying.
At last, a ladder gained, I plucked the prize,
And deemed myself well paid for toil expended;
Alas! I found it only pleased the eyes, —
No fragrant odor with its beauty blended!
And then this moral crossed my vision's disc:
That there are human roses brightly blooming,
For which men neck and peace together risk,
But find, when gained, no gentle heart-perfuming, —
No breathing sweets amid the flower they 've won,
And feel the sense of being severely “done.”
| Knitting-work | |