 | English Roses |  |
THE MOSS ROSE.
I found it first,
When wandering in a wood
Like God's green ocean;
In quest of something that would slake my thirst
For beauty born of flowers and maidenhood,
And deep devotion.
A cup it was of gracious pink
And perfect pose,
In shade uncertain;
Whereat no mouth had learned to drink
Or rend the curtain,
A virgin-sweet moss-rose.
When wandering in a wood
Like God's green ocean;
In quest of something that would slake my thirst
For beauty born of flowers and maidenhood,
And deep devotion.
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And perfect pose,
In shade uncertain;
Whereat no mouth had learned to drink
Or rend the curtain,
A virgin-sweet moss-rose.
I dared to touch
The wonder of that stem,
And try the chalice;
Because its moment love would venture much,
Although I marked the thorns that made a hem
Around of malice.
And I was stabbed by many a spear's
Unsparing arms,
Which kept it hidden;
And wrung from me reluctant tears
For joys forbidden,
Those shy and sheltered charms.
The wonder of that stem,
And try the chalice;
Because its moment love would venture much,
Although I marked the thorns that made a hem
Around of malice.
And I was stabbed by many a spear's
Unsparing arms,
Which kept it hidden;
And wrung from me reluctant tears
For joys forbidden,
Those shy and sheltered charms.
I yearned to taste
The kindness of that cup,
So dimly folded;
The passion of me with its heedless haste,
Most beautiful, in my hot heart stood up,
Unto it moulded.
I saw the reddening of those lips
From me withdrawn,
Too close and curling;
And seemed to hear through that eclipse
Bright waters purling,
To greet the blushing dawn.
The kindness of that cup,
So dimly folded;
The passion of me with its heedless haste,
Most beautiful, in my hot heart stood up,
Unto it moulded.
I saw the reddening of those lips
From me withdrawn,
Too close and curling;
And seemed to hear through that eclipse
Bright waters purling,
To greet the blushing dawn.
Nearer I came,
And every thorn in bloom
Ere word was spoken,
And secret fire from its great heart of flame
Which gleamed from all its greenery and gloom,
Had gladly broken.
And past the coy protecting cold,
My eager thirst
To love the leaven
Rushed on, and gathered in its hold
The dews of heaven—
Whereon I feasted first.
And every thorn in bloom
Ere word was spoken,
And secret fire from its great heart of flame
Which gleamed from all its greenery and gloom,
Had gladly broken.
And past the coy protecting cold,
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To love the leaven
Rushed on, and gathered in its hold
The dews of heaven—
Whereon I feasted first.
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