THOU hast not toiled, sweet Rose, Yet needest rest; Softly thy petals close Upon thy breast, Like folded hands, of labor long oppressed. Naught knowest thou of sin, Yet tears are thine; Baptismal drops within Thy chalice shine, At morning's birth, at evening's calm decline. Alas! one day hath told The tale to thee! Thy tender leaves enfold Life's mystery: Its shadow falls alike on thee and me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AT THE TAVERN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE DARKNESS OF EGYPT by MARIA ABDY PRAYER by ANTON ALEXANDER VON AUERSPERG GRIEF WAS SENT THEE FOR THY GOOD by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY THE DRUG-SHOP, OR, ENDYMION IN EDMONSTOUN by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET |