Roses are red for Summer's blood runs sealed Through root and seed, through stem and petalled wing, Like scarlet banners on a sullen field Their color stabs the frightened green of spring. Forgotten altars leaping to a flame Are not more ardent when the spark is bred Than quiet gardens startled to the same Sweet throb of triumph when a rose runs red. Here Summer's hasty passion ebbs and flows Flushing the cheek of June for a brief hour With fragile loveliness perfection knows As if all beauty blossomed in one flower. So lovers give a red rose when they part, Knowing they pledge their faith in Summer's heart. |