THE ROSE: A BALLAD. I. In his tower sat the poet Gazing on the roaring sea, "Take this rose," he sighed, " and throw it Where there's none that loveth me. On the rock the billow bursteth That hath lain against my breast; On thy black and angry bosom Life is vain and love is hollow, Ugly death stands there behind, Hate and scorn and hunger follow Him that toileth for his kind." Forth into the night he hurled it, And with bitter smile did mark THE ROSE: A BALLAD How the surly tempest whirled it Swift into the hungry dark. Foam and spray drive back to leeward, And the gale, with dreary moan, Drifts the helpless blossom seaward, Through the breakers all alone. II. Stands a maiden, on the morrow, Who hath been my life so long,- But, with omen pure and meet, Humbly at the maiden's feet. THE ROSE: A BALLAD. Full of bliss she takes the token, And, upon the snowy breast, Soothes the ruffled petals broken With the ocean's fierce unrest. Love is thine, O heart! and surely Peace shall also be thine own, For the heart that trusteth purely Never long can pine alone." III. In his tower sits the poet, Blisses new and strange to him Fill his heart and overflow it With a wonder sweet and dim. Through the peaceful blue of night. Rippling o'er the poet's shoulder Flows a maiden's golden hair, Maiden lips, with love grown bolder, Kiss the moon-lit forehead bare. Life is joy, and love is power, Death all fetters doth unbind, |