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| SAID THE ROSE by George H. Miles  I am weary of the Garden, Said the Rose; For the winter winds are sighing, All my playmates round me dying, And my leaves will soon be lying 'Neath the snows. But I hear my Mistress coming, Said the Rose; She will take me to her chamber, Where the honeysuckles clamber, And I'll bloom there all December Spite the snows. Sweeter fell her lily finger Than the bee! Ah, how feebly I resisted, Smoothed my thorns, and e'en assisted As all blushing I was twisted Off my tree. And she fixed me in her bosom Like a star; And I flashed there all the morning, Jasmin, honeysuckle scorning Parasites forever fawning That they are. And when evening came she set me In a vase All of rare and radiant metal, And I felt her red lips settle On my leaves til each proud petal Touched her face. And I shone about her slumbers Like a light And, I said, instead of weeping, In the garden vigil keeping, Here I'll watch my Mistress sleeping Every night. But when morning with its sunbeams Softly shone, In the mirror where she braided Her brown hair I saw how jaded, Old and colorless and faded, I had grown. Not a drop of dew was on me, Never one; From my leaves no odors started, All my perfume had departed, I lay pale and broken-hearted In the sun. Still I said, her smile is better Than the rain; Though my fragrance may forsake me, To her bosom she will take me, And with crimson kisses make me Young again. So she took me . . . gazed a second . . . Half a sigh . . . Then, alas, can hearts so harden? Without ever asking pardon, Threw me back into the garden, There to die. How the jealous garden gloried In my fall! How the honeysuckle chid me, How the sneering jasmins bid me Light the long gray grass that hid me Like a pall. There I lay beneath her window In a swoon, Till the earthworm o'er me trailing Woke me just at twilight's failing, As the whip-poor-will was wailing To the moon But I hear the storm-winds stirring In their lair; And I know they soon will lift me In their giant arms and sift me Into ashes as they drift me Through the air. So I pray them in their mercy Just to take From my heart of hearts, or near it, The last living leaf, and bear it To her feet, and bid her wear it For my sake. *This poem is believed to be public domain. If you have information to the contrary, please contact me so that I may promptly remove it. |
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