I THE rose that drinks the fountain dew In the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered hue In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold and bright, Makes it wan with her borrowed light. II Such is my heart -- roses are fair, And that at best a withered blossom; But thy false care did idly wear Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom; And fed with love, like air and dew, Its growth | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO BAYARD TAYLOR by SIDNEY LANIER THE LIVING STARS by GEORGE SANTAYANA PARTING AT MORNING by ROBERT BROWNING LEMON PIE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 70. THE HILL-SUMMIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SABBATH THOUGHTS by GRACE AGUILAR THE VOICE IN THE GLOAMING by WILLIAM ALLAN |