WHILE o'er my life still hung the morning star, Dreamy and soft in tender-lighted skies, while care and sorrow held themselves afar, And no sad mist of tears had dimmed my eyes, I saw Love's roses blowing, With scent and color glowing, And so I wished for them with longing sighs. The brightest hung so high, and held aloft Their crimson faces, passionately bright; The gay, rich, golden ones escaped me oft, And hedged with sharpest thorns the lofty white; From all my eager pleading They turned away, unheeding; Among Love's roses none were mine of right. Yet, of sweet things, those roses seemed most sweet And most desirable, until a voice, Soft as sad music, said, "Lo, at thy feet A little flower shall make thy heart rejoice." And so, the voice obeying, I saw, in beauty straying, A wealth of heart's-ease, waiting for my choice. Great purple pansies, each with snowy heart, And golden ones, with eyes of deepest blue; Some "freaked with jet," some pure white ones apart, But all so sweet and fresh with morning dew, I could not bear to lose them, I could not help but choose them, For sweet Content sat singing where they grew. So, now, Love's roses shake their scented leaves, But tempt me not to their enchanted quest; I gather "heart's-ease," set in dewy leaves, And am @3content@1, -- for me it is the best. Be glad if, sweet and glowing, You find Love's roses blowing -- I sing through life with heart's-ease at my breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INDIAN EMPEROR: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN ON HIS BEING [OR, HAVING] ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE by JOHN MILTON BLESSING THE LIGHTS by ALTER ABELSON THE LAST MAN: CONCEALED JOY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A CONVENT WITHOUT GOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) MY OWN EPITAPH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) UNIVERSAL GOOD, THE OBJECT OF THE DIVINE WILL; AND EVIL by JOHN BYROM |