Part 22 (1/2)

A fair white rose sedately grows Within the garden wall. There blows No wind to ruff her petals white, No stain of earth, no touch of blight The pure face of my ladye shows.

The queen of all the walls enclose Might be mine own, an' if I chose; But yet, but yet I cannot slight My wild red rose.

Outside the garden wall she throws Her clinging tendrils, and she knows How strong the winds of pa.s.sion smite; She's fragrant, though not faultless quite; Just as she is, none shall depose My wild red rose.

WILLIAM LINDSEY

ROSES

Red roses floating in a crystal bowl You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see, Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me Burning within the crystal of your soul-- Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.

WILFRID WILSON GIBSON

HER GARDEN

This friendly garden, with its fragrant roses,-- It was not ours, when she was here below; And so, in that low bed where she reposes, The beauty of it all she cannot know.

But in the evening when the birds are calling The fragrance rises like a breath of myrrh, And in my empty heart, benignly falling, Becomes a little prayer to send to her.

So, in that silent, lonely bed that holds her, Where nevermore the shadows rise or flee, I think a dream of radiant spring enfolds her-- Of bloom and bird and bending bough ... and me.

LOUIS DODGE

aeRE PERENNIUS

As long as the stars of G.o.d Hang steadfast in the sky, And the blossoms 'neath the sod Awake when Spring is nigh; As long as the nightingale Sings love-songs to the rose, And the Winter wind in the vale Makes moan o'er the virgin snows-- As long as these things be I would tell my love for thee!

As long as the rose of June Bursts forth in crimson fire, And the mellow harvest-moon s.h.i.+nes over hill and spire; As long as heaven's dew At morning kisses the sod; As long as you are you, And I know that G.o.d is G.o.d-- As long as these things be I would tell my love for thee!

CHARLES HANSON TOWNE

EVER THE SAME

King Solomon walked a thousand times Forth of his garden-close; And saw there spring no goodlier thing, Be sure, than the same little rose.

Under the sun was nothing new, Or now, I well suppose.

But what new thing could you find to sing More rare than the same little rose?

Nothing is new; save I, save you, And every new heart that grows, On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet Breath of the same little rose.

JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY

THE MESSAGE

When one has heard the message of the Rose, For what faint other calling shall he care?

Dark broodings turn to find their lonely lair; The vain world keeps her posturing and pose.

He, with his crimson secret, which bestows Heaven in his heart, to Heaven lifts his prayer, And knows all glory trembling through the air As on triumphal journeying he goes.

So through green woodlands in the twilight dim, Led by the faint, pale argent of a star, What though to others it is weary night, Nature holds out her wide, sweet heart to him; And, leaning o'er the world's mysterious bar, His soul is great with everlasting light.

HELEN HAY WHITNEY