 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
304
QUESTIONING A ROSE
It was fair, it was sweet,
And it blossomed at my feet.
“O thou peerless rose!” I said,
“Art thou heir to roses dead—
Roses that their petals shed
In the winds of long ago?
Who bequeathed to thee the glow
Of thy perfect, radiant heart?
What proud queen of fire and snow
Lived to make thee what thou art?
And it blossomed at my feet.
“O thou peerless rose!” I said,
“Art thou heir to roses dead—
Roses that their petals shed
In the winds of long ago?
Who bequeathed to thee the glow
Of thy perfect, radiant heart?
What proud queen of fire and snow
Lived to make thee what thou art?
“Who gave thee thy nameless grace
And the beauty of thy face,
Touched thy lips with fragrant wine,
Pledging thee in cups divine?
On some long-forgotten day,
When earth kept glad holiday,
One bright rose was born, I think,
Dewy, sweet, and soft and pink—
Born, more blest than others are,
To be thy progenitor!
And the beauty of thy face,
Touched thy lips with fragrant wine,
Pledging thee in cups divine?
On some long-forgotten day,
When earth kept glad holiday,
One bright rose was born, I think,
Dewy, sweet, and soft and pink—
Born, more blest than others are,
To be thy progenitor!
“Oh, the roses that have died
In the unremembered Junes!
Oh, the roses that have sighed
Unto long-forgotten runes!
Dost thou know their secrets dear?
Have they whispered in thine ear
Mysteries of the rain and dew,
And the sunshine that they knew?
Have they told thee how the breeze
Wooed them, and the amorous bees?
In the unremembered Junes!
Oh, the roses that have sighed
Unto long-forgotten runes!
Dost thou know their secrets dear?
305
Mysteries of the rain and dew,
And the sunshine that they knew?
Have they told thee how the breeze
Wooed them, and the amorous bees?
“Silent, art thou? Thy repose
Mocks me, yet I fain would know
Art thou kin to one rare rose
Of a summer long ago?
It was sweet, it was fair;
Someone twined it in my hair,
When my young cheek, blushing red,
Shamed the roses, someone said.
Dust and ashes though it be,
Still its soul lives on in thee.”
Mocks me, yet I fain would know
Art thou kin to one rare rose
Of a summer long ago?
It was sweet, it was fair;
Someone twined it in my hair,
When my young cheek, blushing red,
Shamed the roses, someone said.
Dust and ashes though it be,
Still its soul lives on in thee.”
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |