170
WHEN THE ROSE HAS OPENED.
When the rose has opened, the nightingale cares
No more for the paler buds that blow;
When the pearl is the prize which the diver bears,
The sea may sleep in its depths below.
Love is the rose earth's bowers enshrine,
And the gleaming pearl of the caverned sea;
Now the rose and the pearl are mine, are mine,
And what is the land or the wave to me?
Death may come in the morning glow,
Or under the sunset's amber shine,—
I shall say, "Welcome! I wait to go;
For the rose and the pearl are mine, are mine!"
No more for the paler buds that blow;
When the pearl is the prize which the diver bears,
The sea may sleep in its depths below.
Love is the rose earth's bowers enshrine,
And the gleaming pearl of the caverned sea;
Now the rose and the pearl are mine, are mine,
And what is the land or the wave to me?
Death may come in the morning glow,
Or under the sunset's amber shine,—
I shall say, "Welcome! I wait to go;
For the rose and the pearl are mine, are mine!"
