WOULD that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my clod of misery Into delight. Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast As yon red rose, and dare the day, All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest? Say yea -- say yea! Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye; The wind is up; so; drift away. That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly, I strive, I pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LACHRYMAE MUSARUM (THE DEATH OF TENNYSON) by WILLIAM WATSON THE SPROUTING BOARD by AL-ISRA'ILI ELEGY FOR A DEAD KING by AL-KUTANDI THE AMERICAN FIREMAN by CHRISTOPHER BANNISTER THWARTED UTTERANCE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE ONE BEFORE THE LAST by RUPERT BROOKE THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: JACQUELINE, COUNTESS OF HOLLAND by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |