A Moss-Rose

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search

     If the rose of all flowers be the rarest
       That heaven may adore from above,
     And the fervent moss-rose be the fairest
       That sweetens the summer with love,

     Can it be that a fairer than any
       Should blossom afar from the tree?
     Yet one, and a symbol of many,
       Shone sudden for eyes that could see.

     In the grime and the gloom of November
       The bliss and the bloom of July
     Bade autumn rejoice and remember
       The balm of the blossoms gone by.

     Would you know what moss-rose now it may be
       That puts all the rest to the blush,
     The flower was the face of a baby,
       The moss was a bonnet of plush.