To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose, Scentless, colourless, @3this!@1 Will it ever be thus (who knows?) Thus with our bliss, If we wait till the close? Tho' we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end Sooner, later, at last, Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: An end locked fast, Bent we cannot re-bend. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WEARY BLUES by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES SWITZERLAND by JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES IN JUNIOR YEAR by WILLIAM GRANT BARNEY SEASIDE THOUGHTS by BERNARD BARTON PSALM 2. QUARE FREMUERUNT GENTES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE ZOPHIEL; OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN: CANTO 2. DEATH OF ALTHEETOR by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS |