I THE rose that drinks the fountain dew In the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered hue In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold and bright, Makes it wan with her borrowed light. II Such is my heart -- roses are fair, And that at best a withered blossom; But thy false care did idly wear Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom; And fed with love, like air and dew, Its growth | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANGED by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE THROSTLE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE SAD SHEPHERD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS EYE-SHAPED, MOUTH-SHAPED by MARGARET AHO MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN by ALBERT LINDLEY BEANE DUSK ON ENGLISH BAY by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY TAKE YOUR CHOICE: NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY WOULD SPEAK ... THIS MANNER by BERTON BRALEY THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: BLUEBEARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |