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THE BRIAR-ROSE
(After the Picture-series by Sir Edward Burne-Jones.)
’Tis the latest day of the latest year,
And the latest hour of the latest day.
The wan light swooneth as with fear
Around Truth’s prison hoary-grey;
Sweet Lady, she, and loved right dear—
But ah, the Briars,
The Thorns and Briars!
And to-night the stealthy Briars mean death
To Truth so long in thraldom pent;
This night, to suck her struggling breath
The last malignant shoot is sent.
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