 | English Roses |  |
MY RED ROSE.
Though many flowers may smile on me
And paint the deepest night,
Yet must I only look at thee,
Red Rose, my one delight;
When thou art close, I cannot see
Another face though fair it be,
Because thou art so bright.
And paint the deepest night,
Yet must I only look at thee,
Red Rose, my one delight;
When thou art close, I cannot see
Another face though fair it be,
Because thou art so bright.
The Pansy has a perfect grace
Which doth around me twine,
And in the Lily's turn I trace
A purity divine;
But in thy bridal chamber space
Each beauty has a dwelling place,
And every gift is thine.
Which doth around me twine,
And in the Lily's turn I trace
A purity divine;
But in thy bridal chamber space
Each beauty has a dwelling place,
And every gift is thine.
What eye in pleasure would not dwell
On that embodied blush,
To which as in a crowning spell
Creation seems to rush?
And who, howe'er he knows thee well,
In melody or tale might tell
That heaven within thy hush?
On that embodied blush,
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Creation seems to rush?
And who, howe'er he knows thee well,
In melody or tale might tell
That heaven within thy hush?
The curve and colour of thy shape,
Elsewhere I do not mark;
It weds the glory on the grape
And secret of the dark;
The crimsons in which poppies drape,
Sunrise and moonrise all escape
From that celestial spark.
Elsewhere I do not mark;
It weds the glory on the grape
And secret of the dark;
The crimsons in which poppies drape,
Sunrise and moonrise all escape
From that celestial spark.
Unearthly fragrance from thee falls
And to each petal clings,
Which girds thee as with fairy walls
And soft enchanted things;
Thy breath to praise and worship calls,
And turns the hut to palace halls
With magic which it brings.
And to each petal clings,
Which girds thee as with fairy walls
And soft enchanted things;
Thy breath to praise and worship calls,
And turns the hut to palace halls
With magic which it brings.
And he who once has lingered near
Thy rapture keen as pain,
Can nevermore be touched by fear
Or any earthly stain;
He carries balm for toil and tear
And music which none else can hear,
Nor stoops to ill again.
Thy rapture keen as pain,
Can nevermore be touched by fear
Or any earthly stain;
He carries balm for toil and tear
And music which none else can hear,
Nor stoops to ill again.
And I who of thy fulness drink
A passion deep and long,
Now do not waver on the brink
Of madness or the wrong;
Each bond is but a golden link
Wherein with God himself I think,
And every footstep song.
A passion deep and long,
Now do not waver on the brink
Of madness or the wrong;
Each bond is but a golden link
Wherein with God himself I think,
And every footstep song.
Thou shalt not die, a better birth
Does in thy passing wake,
Who giveth all a sacred girth
That mortals cannot make;
Which joins our misery to mirth,
And marries us to Heaven; and earth
Is sweeter, for thy sake.
Does in thy passing wake,
Who giveth all a sacred girth
That mortals cannot make;
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And marries us to Heaven; and earth
Is sweeter, for thy sake.
And not thy humblest part, the thorn
Which pierces if we try
Or handle without heed in scorn
Thy radiant ecstacy;
Then only, chastened thus and torn,
My blindness opes to the blue morn
Which is Eternity
Which pierces if we try
Or handle without heed in scorn
Thy radiant ecstacy;
Then only, chastened thus and torn,
My blindness opes to the blue morn
Which is Eternity
But rooted in a generous soil
Thou likest more the East,
And in our human care and coil
Thy lesson is not least;
And he who triumphs in his toil
Or rises splendid with the spoil,
Finds thee a richer feast.
Thou likest more the East,
And in our human care and coil
Thy lesson is not least;
And he who triumphs in his toil
Or rises splendid with the spoil,
Finds thee a richer feast.
O more than fair, immortal Rose,
In thy rejoicing red
So faultless in its final pose,
I see a holy bed
For maiden bosoms and for those
That walk with truth, which might enclose
Divinity's own Head.
In thy rejoicing red
So faultless in its final pose,
I see a holy bed
For maiden bosoms and for those
That walk with truth, which might enclose
Divinity's own Head.
And thou, my Red Rose, sweetest heart,
For ever fond and true,
The perfume of whose life has part
To all that's dear and due,
Dost breathe a blessing on each smart
That smiles beneath thy touch, and art
To Heaven my happy clue.
For ever fond and true,
The perfume of whose life has part
To all that's dear and due,
Dost breathe a blessing on each smart
That smiles beneath thy touch, and art
To Heaven my happy clue.
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