 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
146
THE KING'S ROSEBUD
Only a blushing rosebud, folding up
Such wealth of sweetness in its dewy cup
That the whole air was like rare incense flung
From golden censers round high altars swung!
One day the king passed by with stately tread,
And, reaching forth his hand, he lightly said,
“All sweets are mine; therefore this rose I take,
And wear it in my bosom for Love's sake.”
Then, while the king passed on with smiling face,
The sweet rose gloried in its pride of place.
Such wealth of sweetness in its dewy cup
That the whole air was like rare incense flung
From golden censers round high altars swung!
One day the king passed by with stately tread,
And, reaching forth his hand, he lightly said,
“All sweets are mine; therefore this rose I take,
And wear it in my bosom for Love's sake.”
Then, while the king passed on with smiling face,
The sweet rose gloried in its pride of place.
But ah! the deeds that in Love's name are done!
The woeful wrack wrought underneath the sun!
Still with that smile upon his lip, the king
Laid his rash hand upon the beauteous thing;
In hot haste tore the crimson leaves apart,
And drained the sweetness from its glowing heart;
Seared the soft petals with its fiery breath,
Then tossed it from him to ignoble death!
When next with idle steps I passed that way,
Prone in the mire the king's fair rosebud lay.
The woeful wrack wrought underneath the sun!
Still with that smile upon his lip, the king
Laid his rash hand upon the beauteous thing;
In hot haste tore the crimson leaves apart,
And drained the sweetness from its glowing heart;
Seared the soft petals with its fiery breath,
Then tossed it from him to ignoble death!
When next with idle steps I passed that way,
Prone in the mire the king's fair rosebud lay.
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |