Poems (Curwen)/Under the Roses

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Under the Roses.

Under the roses baby lies,—
 The budding roses sweet and fair—
Plucking pansies that match her eyes
 While the sunshine glints on her golden hair.
And, "Which is the fairest?"asks Hope of me,"
The budding babe, or the budding tree?"

Under the roses a maiden stands,—
 The blooming roses fair to see,—
But the blossoms she holds in her dainty hands,
 Are not more beautiful than she,
Ah, "Which is the sweetest?" asks Love of me,"
The blushing maid, or the blooming tree?"

Under the roses a still form sleeps,
 Under the roses faded and brown,
Under the withering tree that keeps
 Watch, while its sere leaves are flutt'ring down;
And, "Which is the saddest?" asks Nature of me,"
The withered life, or the withered tree?"

"Under the roses," Faith whispers slowly,"
 Under the roses that never fade,
In the light that shines from the 'Holy
 Of Holies,' I see the glorified maid;
Fair was the mortal, but fairer is she
In the beauty of Immortality."