Friday, December 16, 2011

Said The Rose

I am weary of the Garden,
Said the Rose;
For the winter winds are sighing
All my playmates round me dying,
And my leaves will soon be lying
'Neath the snows.

But I hear my Mistress coming,
Said the Rose;
She will take me to her chamber,
Where the honeysuckles clamber,
And I'll bloom there all December
Spite the snows.

Sweeter fell her lily finger
Than the bee!
Ah, how feebly I resisted,
Smoothed my thorns, and e'en assisted
As all blushing I was twisted
Off my tree.

And she fixed me in her bosom
Like a star;
And I flashed there all the morning,
Jasmin, honeysuckle scorning,
Parasites forever fawning
That they are.

And when evening came she set me
In a vase
All of rare and radiant metal,
And I felt her red lips settle
On my leaves till each proud petal
Touched her face.

And I shone about her slumbers
Like a light;
And, I said, instead of weeping,
In the garden, vigil keeping,
Here I'll watch my Mistress sleeping
Every Night.

A portion of the poem, Said The Rose
Author:  George B. Miles

One of my favorite poems and dedicated to my Dear Husband who sent me roses every week, from the day we met, for over a year.  Never missing a single time.

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