The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw, -- it must have been Very pretty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 112. GIBRALTAR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS by ANDREW MARVELL STORM AT SEA (2) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE WITH MY FANCY by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 21 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 19 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |