O LITTLE tender rose of Bethlehem, Lo! I am harsher than the salt sea-shore, And purblind, like some beggar of the plain, With knotted hair, and beard that hath not known The comb's caress for wandering wasted years. I know thy fingers are too fresh and cool To lie within my gnarled and leathern hands; I know thy kiss drops on my mouth like dew On dust, or like those petals of the peach Starring the ruined road to Olivet. But I have left the pilgrims in the path To wrangle round their creeds with shaken staves, And I have left the thought that I am old, For, gazing in the pools of thy dark eyes, The mirrored portrait of myself seems young. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRUST IN GOD by NORMAN MACLEOD (1812-1872) SWITZERLAND AND ITALY by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES STREET CORNER COLLEGE by KENNETH PATCHEN SONNET: 151 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE LION'S SKELETON by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER NUPTIAL ODE ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |