THE Rose of the World hangs high on a thorny Tree. Whoso would gather must harrow his hands and feet. But oh! It is sweet. The leaves that drop like blood from the thorny Tree Redden the roads of the earth from East to West. They lie in my breast. O Rose, O Rose of the World, bow down to me Who can cleave no more, so pierced are my hands and feet. For oh! Thou art sweet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TERNISSA, FR HELLENICS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR SEASONS (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A SONNET. LOVE'S CONTRARIETY by PHILIP AYRES TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE by PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY |