AT morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee, A rose of joy and happy love and peace, A rose with scarce a thorn: But in the chillness of a second morn My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase Was but one thorn that wounded me. I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee, And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn: If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, Wilt Thou not give me for my rose increase Of gladness, and all sweets to me? My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee I offer; and I set my heart in peace, And rest upon my thorn: For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, Yea, give Thy very Self to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STORMING OF STONY POINT [JULY 16, 1779] by ARTHUR GUITERMAN ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 98 by PHILIP SIDNEY SIR LANCELOT AND QUEEN GUINEVERE by ALFRED TENNYSON A SISTER OF SORROW: 1. UP THE ROAD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY SOCIAL JUSTICE by ERNEST BRADLEY ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD TOWNSMAN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |