 | Poems |  |
177
THE WINTER ROSE.
O! true love is a winter rose,
Smiling beneath a frowning sky,
Pillowed on dreary frosts and snows,
While patient hope stands guardian by.
Smiling beneath a frowning sky,
Pillowed on dreary frosts and snows,
While patient hope stands guardian by.
Yes! true love is a winter rose,
Watered by tears and fanned by sighs;
And soft it blooms, and fair it blows,
While storms unheeded round it rise.
Watered by tears and fanned by sighs;
And soft it blooms, and fair it blows,
While storms unheeded round it rise.
Yet, if it is a winter rose,
The native of dismaying climes—
When in its full-blown pride it glows,
It makes all hours sweet summer primes.
The native of dismaying climes—
When in its full-blown pride it glows,
It makes all hours sweet summer primes.
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