THE rose is fragrant -- yet if she divineth Her own sweet fragrance, if the nightingale Herself feels what round man's soul softly twineth, When echoes her sweet song across the vale, -- I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation Oft fill'd by truth. If nightingale and rose The feeling only feign'd, the fabrication Would still be useful, we may well suppose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOTTLES AND THE WINE by GEORGE SANTAYANA RAIN IN SUMMER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: DEATH-WARNINGS by FRANCISCO GOMEZ DE QUEVEDO Y VILLEGAS THE LAST INVOCATION by WALT WHITMAN THE QUEEN'S RIDE; AN INVITATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE by VINCENT BOURNE SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY: 1. NEW YORK AT SUNRISE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |