 | Women must weep |  |
150
ROSE AND THORN.
Ah! the blossom grew so red,
Flushing in the summer morn;
Far and wide it beauty breathed, and shed
Sweetness upon bosoms worn,
Tried and torn;
As if it to blessèd uplands led,
Far from scorn,
Where hearts which have suffer'd long and bled,
Find at last a refuge and a bed,
And again are happier born;
Rain and sunshine all its graces sped,
And the rose conceal'd the thorn.
Flushing in the summer morn;
Far and wide it beauty breathed, and shed
Sweetness upon bosoms worn,
Tried and torn;
As if it to blessèd uplands led,
Far from scorn,
Where hearts which have suffer'd long and bled,
Find at last a refuge and a bed,
And again are happier born;
Rain and sunshine all its graces sped,
And the rose conceal'd the thorn.
Yes, the maiden wax'd so fair,
Blooming in her humble plot,
True as clock that made the cottage stair
Ring the changes of her changeless lot;
Without spot,
Still at night she set her father's chair,
Boil'd the pot;
Smooth'd the tangles of her glorious hair,
Smiled to face and feel the cooler air
Whisper through recesses hot,—
Made quite sure the slippers were a pair,
Nothing needed was forgot.
Blooming in her humble plot,
True as clock that made the cottage stair
Ring the changes of her changeless lot;
Without spot,
Still at night she set her father's chair,
Boil'd the pot;
Smooth'd the tangles of her glorious hair,
Smiled to face and feel the cooler air
Whisper through recesses hot,—
Made quite sure the slippers were a pair,
Nothing needed was forgot.
Broaden'd petals in the sun,
Brighter every tender shoot
Peep'd and pouted, as a pretty nun
Eyes the sweet forbidden fruit,
At her foot;
Why should she the grateful shadow shun,
Owls that hoot?
Why should she be shut from healthy fun,
Where the frolic winds and waters run
Races with the wandering coot?
Why should life not end as it begun,
Farther, deeper, spread its root?
Brighter every tender shoot
Peep'd and pouted, as a pretty nun
Eyes the sweet forbidden fruit,
At her foot;
Why should she the grateful shadow shun,
Owls that hoot?
Why should she be shut from healthy fun,
Where the frolic winds and waters run
Races with the wandering coot?
Why should life not end as it begun,
Farther, deeper, spread its root?
151
But before the gale goes calm,
And from mossy mantle grows
Danger that would send a quivering qualm
Through the breast which bravest glows;
Hidden foes,
Started from behind the victor's palm,
Shining shows;
Hostile were the hands that bore the balm,
Turn'd the triumph-song to funeral psalm,
Ere her little evening's close;
Low she lay, who never dream'd of harm,
And the thorn conceal'd the rose.
And from mossy mantle grows
Danger that would send a quivering qualm
Through the breast which bravest glows;
Hidden foes,
Started from behind the victor's palm,
Shining shows;
Hostile were the hands that bore the balm,
Turn'd the triumph-song to funeral psalm,
Ere her little evening's close;
Low she lay, who never dream'd of harm,
And the thorn conceal'd the rose.
| Women must weep | |