O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ORANGUTAN REHAB by KAREN SWENSON FOOLIN' WID DE SEASONS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SHADOW OF THE NIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ECCLESIASTES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE OXFORD IN WAR-TIME by LAURENCE BINYON THE PLOUGHMAN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY TO T.H., A LADY RESEMBLING MY MISTRESS by THOMAS CAREW |