THE Rose has left the garden, Here she but faintly lives, Lives but for me, Within this little urn of pot-pourri Of all that was And never more can be, While her black berries harden On the wind-shaken tree. Yet if my song a little fragrance gives, 'Tis not all loss, Something I save From the sweet grave Wherein she lies, Something she gave That never dies, Something that may still live In these my words That draw from her their breath, And fain would be her birds Still in her death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHPEHERD'S HOUR by PAUL VERLAINE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 39 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE PET NAME by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING OF THE THEME OF LOVE by MARGARET LUCAS CAVENDISH BEN BOLT by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH |