Poems (Kimball)/Caprice
For works with similar titles, see Caprice.
JUNE SONGS.
I.caprice.
THE rose is dead in my Lady's bower; The love is dead in my Lady's heart!The rose was only a summer flower, Born to die in a summer hour—To yield its life to the passionate shower That tore its radiant leaves apart.
The rose-tree will blossom again, I know, But what care I for to-morrow's flower?Some idle wind will capriciously blow;The rain's wild feet will trample it; oh,Pluck it who will! for myself I go And leave the rose in my Lady's bower!