ROSE that wert red, Drop thy flower on my head, Rose that wert red. Leaves that were sweet, Spill thy dews on my feet, Leaves that were sweet. Bird whose tired song Broke and died the day long, Sing thy old wrong. Heart whose clear flame Failed before the night came, Hide thy sharp shame. Rose that wert red, Drop thy flower on my head, Now that I am dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE DAWN; SONNET by AMY LOWELL GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL BATTLE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES FESTOONS OF FISHES by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER HILL MOMUMENT by JOHN PIERPONT THE HOUSE ON THE HILL by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AUBADE [OR, A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |