The scentless rose, train'd by the poor, May sometimes grace the peasant's door; But when will comfort enter there? Beauty without, hides death within, Like flowers upon the shroud of sin: For ev'n the poor man's marriage-joys, His wife, his sad-lipp'd girls and boys, In mercy or in mockery given, But brighten, with their 'hour of heav'n,' A life of ghastly toil and care: His pay is pain, his hope despair, Although the cottage-rose is fair! Out of his weekly pittance small, Three crowns, for children, wife, and all, Poor British Slave! how can he save A pittance for his evening's close? No roses deck the workhouse-grave! Where is the aged pauper's rose! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 21. BREDON HILL by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SONNET (4) by JOACHIM DU BELLAY THE CALL TO ARMS by CARL JOHN BOSTELMANN THE MANX WITCH; A STORY OF THE LAXDALE MINES by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN RATTLIN,' ROARIN' WILLIE by ROBERT BURNS |