ONE only rose our village maiden wore; Upon her breast she wore it, in that part Where many a throbbing pulse doth heave and start At the mere thought of Love and his sweet lore. No polish'd gems hath she, no moulded ore, Nor any other masterpiece of art: She hath but Nature's masterpiece, her heart; And that show'd ruddy as the rose she bore Because that he, who sought for steadfastness Vainly in other maids, had found it bare Under the eyelids of this maiden fair, Under the folds of her most simple dress. She let him find it; for she lov'd him, too, As he lov'd her: and all this tale is true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIFE'S MIRROR by MARY AINGE DE VERE CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE PILGRIM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE YEARS TO BE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO A YOUNG LADY WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING ORIGINAL FOR HER ALBUM by THOMAS CAMPBELL A FATHER'S DILEMMA by E. PEARL DANCEY |