 | English Roses |  |
RUBY.
If I, dear Ruby, were the rose
That blushes on thy breast,
Then would my life like it unclose
In many rays of rest;
This earth itself would wax the sweeter
And all my rounded work completer,
If by that beauty prest;
Thy gentle touch would quite compose
The tumult of my heart,
And every thought that is a thorn
Could not but then (in thee reborn)
Forget its cruel part.
That blushes on thy breast,
Then would my life like it unclose
In many rays of rest;
This earth itself would wax the sweeter
And all my rounded work completer,
If by that beauty prest;
Thy gentle touch would quite compose
The tumult of my heart,
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Could not but then (in thee reborn)
Forget its cruel part.
If I, dear Ruby, only lay
Rose-like upon thy lips
A moment of my weary way
Or felt thy finger tips;
I know the clouds would fly and scatter
And care be but an empty matter,
In love's pure white eclipse;
Another heaven, another day
Would open to these eyes;
The hidden truth, the soul of space,
Would yield its glory in thy grace
From blue infinities.
Rose-like upon thy lips
A moment of my weary way
Or felt thy finger tips;
I know the clouds would fly and scatter
And care be but an empty matter,
In love's pure white eclipse;
Another heaven, another day
Would open to these eyes;
The hidden truth, the soul of space,
Would yield its glory in thy grace
From blue infinities.
| English Roses | |