Poems (Allen)/Where the Roses grew
HIS is where the roses grew, In the summer that is gone; Fairer bloom or richer hue Never summer shone upon: O, the glories vanished hence! O, the sad imperfect tense!
WHERE THE ROSES GREW.
HIS is where the roses grew, In the summer that is gone; Fairer bloom or richer hue Never summer shone upon: O, the glories vanished hence! O, the sad imperfect tense!This is where the roses grew When the July days were long,—When the garden all day through Echoed with delight and song;—Hark! the dead and broken stalks Eddying down the windy walks!
Never was a desert waste, Where no blossom-life is born, Half so dreary and unblest, Half so lonesome and forlorn, Since in this we dimly see All the bliss that used to be.
Where the roses used to grow! And the west-wind's wailing words Tell in whispers faint and low Of the famished humming-birds,—Of the bees which search in vain For the honey-cells again!
This is where the roses grew, Till the ground was all perfume, And, whenever zephyrs blew, Carpeted with crimson bloom!Now the chill and scentless air Sweeps the flower-plats brown and bare.
Hearts have gardens sad as this, Where the roses bloom no more,—Gardens where no summer-bliss Can the summer-bloom restore,—Where the snow melts not away At the warming kiss of May;—
Gardens where the vernal morns Never shed their sunshine down,—Where are only stems and thorns, Veiled in dead leaves, curled and blown,—Gardens where we only see Where the roses used to be!