THE BROTHER'S HAND.[Time: The Civil War, 1861-1868.]
Here, see what I have brought you from the hill—
A brier-rose lingering late into July.
Oh, it may tell you, if it can and will,
In its small way, so pink and timid, why
It waited after all its mates were dead,
And wore for mourning-garments only red
While its step-mother month was fierce and dry.
A brier-rose lingering late into July.
Oh, it may tell you, if it can and will,
In its small way, so pink and timid, why
It waited after all its mates were dead,
And wore for mourning-garments only red
While its step-mother month was fierce and dry.
There is no flower with look and bloom and breath,
I fondly fancy, like the faint brier-rose;
No flower so fair for life, so sweet for death,
That in the dew or in the darkness grows;
No flower that has so faërily heard and seen
What faëry things the hum and honey mean,
When in the wind the bee about it blows.
I fondly fancy, like the faint brier-rose;
No flower so fair for life, so sweet for death,
That in the dew or in the darkness grows;
No flower that has so faërily heard and seen
What faëry things the hum and honey mean,
When in the wind the bee about it blows.
