Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
 |
 |
|
ON A ROSE. |
 | Marcian Colonna |  |
187
ON A ROSE.
Oh! thou dull flower, here silently dying:
And wilt thou never, then,—never resume
Thy colour or perfume?
Alas! and but last night I saw thee lying
Upon the whitest bosom in the world,
And now thy crimson leaves are parched and curled.
And wilt thou never, then,—never resume
Thy colour or perfume?
Alas! and but last night I saw thee lying
Upon the whitest bosom in the world,
And now thy crimson leaves are parched and curled.
Is it that Love hath with his fiery breath
Blown on thee, until thou wast fain to perish,
(Love who so strives to cherish,)
And is the bound so slight 'tween life and death—
A step but from the temple to the tomb?
Oh! where hath fled thy beauty—where thy bloom?
Blown on thee, until thou wast fain to perish,
(Love who so strives to cherish,)
And is the bound so slight 'tween life and death—
A step but from the temple to the tomb?
Oh! where hath fled thy beauty—where thy bloom?
188
For me, last night I envied thee thy place,
So near a heart which I may never gain,
And now—perhaps in pain,
Thou'rt losing all thy fragrance—all thy grace.
—And yet, it was enough for thee to lie
On her breast, for a moment, and then—die.
So near a heart which I may never gain,
And now—perhaps in pain,
Thou'rt losing all thy fragrance—all thy grace.
—And yet, it was enough for thee to lie
On her breast, for a moment, and then—die.
| Marcian Colonna | |