The rose that was the last to fade was one his mother brought, Though on his grave so many laid some lovely floral thought; But, when the flowers of friendship died, I came his bed to see; And still her rose the sun defied and lingered tenderly. Oh, there were richer tributes there that came from richer hands, The fragile blooms of hot-house care -- but Nature understands; The rose from Mother's garden still lived on amid the gloom, And so her fond affection will survive the closing tomb. For that red rose from out-of-doors had known the stress of strife, Had known the thunderstorm that pours upon the hills of life, Had lifted after every rain its head above the rest, Made stronger by its hour of pain, when pain had been the test. A rose from Mother's garden! -- so a mother's love survives The storms that come, the storms that go, each season of our lives; And when the last rose on the grave, yea even hers, is gone, Her mother-love, as sweet, as brave, will blossom on and on. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. PURKAPILE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO BE LIKED BY YOU WOULD BE A CALAMITY by MARIANNE MOORE |