Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Court Magazine Volume III 1833/A Song of the Rose

by Felicia Hemans

For other versions of this work, see A Song of the Rose.

The Court Magazine, 1833, Volume III, Pages 45-46

SUMMER SONGS, BY MRS. HEMANS.

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I.—A SONG OF THE ROSE.

Hast thou no fears, O thou exulting thing;
Thus looking forth on life? Is there no spell
In the strong wind to tame thee? Thou hast yet
To learn harsh lessons from the changeful hours,
And bow thy stately head submissively
Unto a heavy touch; for here, bright shape!
Thy resting-place is not.

Rose, what dost thou here?
    Bridal, royal Rose!
How, 'midst grief and fear,
    Canst thou thus disclose

That fervid hue of love which to thy heart-leaf glows?

Rose! too much arrayed
    For triumphal hours,
Look'st thou through the shade
    Of these mortal bowers,

Not to disturb my soul, thou crowned one of all flowers!

As an eagle soaring
    Through a sunny sky,
As a clarion pouring
    Strains of victory,

So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly doom too high!

Thoughts of rapture, flushing
    Youthful poet's cheek;
Thoughts of glory rushing
    Forth in song to break;

But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak.

Yet, O festal Rose!
    I have seen thee lying
In thy bright repose,
    Pillowed with the dying,

Thy crimson by the lip whence life's quick blood was flying.

Summer, Life, and Love,
    O'er that bed of pain,
Met in thee, yet wove
    Too, too frail a chain

In its embracing links, the lovely to detain.

Smil'st thou, gorgeous flower?
    Oh! within the spells
Of thy beauty's power,
    Something dimly dwells

At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells!

All the soul, forth flowing
    With that rich perfume,
All the proud life, glowing
    In that radiant bloom,

Have they no place but here, beneath th' o'ershadowing tomb?

Crown'st thou but the daughters
    Of our tearful race?
Heaven's own purest waters
    Well might wear the trace

Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace!

Will that clime enfold thee
    With immortal air?
Shall we not behold thee
    Bright and deathless there,

In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendantly more fair?

Yes, my fancy sees thee
    In that light disclose,
And its dream thus frees thee
    From the mist of woes,

Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal Rose!