Poems (Angier)/Our Rose
OUR ROSE.
No fairer rose e'er grew Than our garden bower knew;And her influence like odor breathed around; The magic of her words Touched our bosom's tenderest chords—And our hearts to our Rose were closely bound.
The lily veils its face, And shuns with modest graceThe gaze of the crowd passing by; Thus she, our garden's pride, Her sweetness sought to hide—But an angel called Death claimed our Rose for the sky.
Then she faded like a flower, That in autumn's early hourFeels the chilling winds o'er its leaves sweet; But our Rose is blooming still Where no blighting frost can kill—This precious thought shall cheer us, though we weep.