A ROSE from the flowers in her garden she offer'd, But aggrieved was that rose to be sever'd from them, Ere press'd to my lips was the gift that she proffer'd The leaves at my touch fell away from the stem. Thus oft a fond wish by the chance of a minute Is crush'd—nor in joy when attain'd can we trust, Hope leads us on, but alas! when we win it And grasp it, the treasure oft crumbles to dust. Did the rose leaves thus scatter'd a warning betoken And shedding their fragrance my passion reprove? The green stalk, a symbol of friendship, unbroken, Stript of the leaves which embalm'd it with love. The thorn,—for still left on that stem may a thorn be, To the hand which bestow'd it no wound shall impart, Alone by mine own shall it patiently borne be, Nor touch with one sorrow the truth of her heart. I have but one fear—lest such love be resented, I have but one trial—its warmth to suppress, Evermore striving, with friendship contented, To merit that blessing by loving her less. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HARRISON STREET COURT by CARL SANDBURG VIRTUE [OR, VERTUE] by GEORGE HERBERT THE NEW INN: A VISION OF BEAUTY by BEN JONSON DRAKE'S DRUM by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT DICK, A MAGGOT by JONATHAN SWIFT |