HERE -- for they could not help but die -- The daughters of the Rose-Bush lie: Here rest, interred without a stone, What dear Lucinda gave to none, -- What forward beau, or curious belle, Could hardly touch, and rarely smell. Dear Rose! of all the blooming kind You had a happier place assigned, And nearer grew to all that's fair, And more engaged Lucinda's care, Than ever courting, coaxing swain, Or ever all who love, shall gain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ECHO FROM WILLOW-WOOD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI INGRATITUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EYES AND LIPS by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER THE WORD OF SUMMER by ELSA BARKER S. BARTHOLOMEW by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A GIRL'S SONG ON HER LOVER, PAIDIN RUADH by CHARLES BEWLEY BURIAL AT SEA by JESSIE GODDARD BROMAN GILBERT: 2. THE PARLOUR by CHARLOTTE BRONTE THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE MAGIC LAND by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |