O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MR. S.T. COLERIDGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE PICKET-GUARD [NOVEMBER, 1861] by ETHEL LYNN BEERS LOCHABER NO MORE by ALLAN RAMSAY THE FLIGHT OF TIME by J. K. BLAKE THE FAR-OFF DAY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |