Poems (Chitwood)/The First Rose of Summer

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER.

'Tis the first sweet rose of Summer.
 Love, I send it unto thee;
May it wake a pleasant memory
 In thy gentle heart of me:
See, the smile of fair Aurora
 Lingers yet upon its brow,
And the pink upon its bosom
 Tells of Zephyr's ardent vow.

Grew it by my cottage window,
 Ah, I watched it day by day,
As the Spring with sweet coquetting
 Toyed the golden hours away;
But when young June, draped in sunbeams,
 Dew pearls 'round her shining hair,
Floated o'er the emerald meadows,
 Like a lark upon the air:

Stooped she to the rose and kiss'd her,
 And with sweet and coy surprise,
Blushing like a modest maiden,
 Opened she her dewy eyes:
Heard she then the gentle music
 Of the birds upon the trees,
And the lute-strings of Eolus
 Filled her heart with harmonies.

'Tis the first sweet rose of Summer;
 When its crimson leaflets fade,
Let it be with thy heart treasures
 Like a waif from childhood laid;
Let it speak with that soft odor
 That shall linger in its heart,
Of my constant, pure affection,
 As the months and years depart.

If, perchance, the hands that culled it,
 E'er another June, shall be
Slowly turning into ashes,
 Down beneath the churchyard tree;
Still, oh still, in silent language,
 Let it tell with fragrant breath,
Of the love that aye hath lasted,
 True in life and strong in death.