WHEN I have kissed the Rose upon the path
And loved her, touch to touch and eye to eye,
The joy I have of her I know she hath
For every passer by —
What right have I?
Wakes in my heart the morning of thy speech,
Sings in my soul the music of thy smile,
And thou'rt as far as Roses out of reach —
For in a little while
Will they beguile
Hearts, not my own, of other sorrowing —
Ah, and thy voice's music, sweet and low
And gentle with all magic of the spring
Shall touch them even so —
Do I not know?
I know it well, and yet in peace I part!
I know God made the Rose, and gave to thee,
To help his whole wide world, the Rose's heart,
Nor left thy bounty free
To pluck by me.
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