Poems (Dorr)/A Late Rose
A LATE ROSE
I sent a little maiden To pluck for me a rose,The sweetest and the fairest That in the garden grows—A blush-rose, proud and tender,Upon its stem so slender,Swaying in dreamy splendor Where yellow sunshine glows.
Back came the little maiden With drooping, downcast head,And slow, reluctant footsteps, And this to me she said:"I find no sweet blush-rosesIn all the garden closes:There are no summer roses; It must be they are dead!"
Then bent I to the maiden And touched her shining hair—Dear heart! in all the garden Was nothing half so fair!"Nay!" said I, "let the rosesDie in the garden closesWhenever fate disposes, If I this rose may wear!"