 | The silver bridge and other poems |  |
13
A WHITE ROSEBUD.
O rosebud, white rosebud,
Whence comes your summer smile,
When to and fro outside the snow
Is drifting all the while?
The cold midwinter tempest roars,
The garden is bereft;
In all the waste of out-of-doors
You have no kindred left.
Whence comes your summer smile,
When to and fro outside the snow
Is drifting all the while?
The cold midwinter tempest roars,
The garden is bereft;
In all the waste of out-of-doors
You have no kindred left.
O rosebud, dear rosebud,
I wonder if you dream
How much more fair and sweet you are
Than summer roses seem?
A rose that blooms in winter air
In grace and beauty grows
—Because so precious and so rare—
A thousand times a rose.
I wonder if you dream
How much more fair and sweet you are
Than summer roses seem?
A rose that blooms in winter air
In grace and beauty grows
—Because so precious and so rare—
A thousand times a rose.
O rosebud, fair rosebud,
You grieve not that your prime
Of radiant bloom and rich perfume
Has come in winter-time;
And should I deem it hard and wrong,
And drop ungrateful tears,
If life's best joy should bloom among
The snows of later years?
You grieve not that your prime
14
Has come in winter-time;
And should I deem it hard and wrong,
And drop ungrateful tears,
If life's best joy should bloom among
The snows of later years?
O rosebud, sweet rosebud,
What happy secret lies
Deep in your heart, so shut apart
From rude and curious eyes?
Some dear delight of soul or sense
Must make its dwelling there,
Else wherefore does this odor thence
Rise like a grateful prayer?
What happy secret lies
Deep in your heart, so shut apart
From rude and curious eyes?
Some dear delight of soul or sense
Must make its dwelling there,
Else wherefore does this odor thence
Rise like a grateful prayer?
O rosebud, rare rosebud,
Would that you might repeat
The dreams which rest within your breast
And make your life so sweet!
'T were well if we sad mortals knew,
Our days are so forlorn;
So many souls among us, too,
Alas, are winter-born!
Would that you might repeat
The dreams which rest within your breast
And make your life so sweet!
'T were well if we sad mortals knew,
Our days are so forlorn;
So many souls among us, too,
Alas, are winter-born!
O rosebud, my rosebud,
My heart is like to you,
Since hidden deep therein I keep
A happy secret too.
Oh, listen! winter-time will flee,
And spring will bless the air,
And birds will sing, and there will be
White rosebuds everywhere!
My heart is like to you,
15
A happy secret too.
Oh, listen! winter-time will flee,
And spring will bless the air,
And birds will sing, and there will be
White rosebuds everywhere!
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