Now Florence fills her lap with buds of May, And all, with roses, be they rich or poor, Stream through the great cathedral's brazen door, To get them blessed upon the Roses' Day. Roses and yet more roses, brought away From hundreds of wild gardens, Spring's great store, Are blessed; but, crushed on the cathedral floor, Lies many a bud that caught the dawn's first ray. And so we cried: "O Priest, a bud we'll bring For thee to bless, fresh-sprinkled by the morn, When myriad roses crown triumphant Spring. Late to the breeze it came, through many a thorn, On our grey villa wall: a frail sweet thing, Of sun and rain, of smile and sorrow born." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIGH PLAINS RAG by JAMES GALVIN THE VOICE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON ON FIRST ENTERING WESTMINSTER ABBEY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE ON THE AMOROUS AND PATHETIC STORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by L. B. POVERTY PARTS GUDE COMPANIE by JOANNA BAILLIE |