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.