The Rose

The Rose
19110

A gleam of white, two tripping feet,
A smile, a witching air
And a blush-red rose in the dusty street-
A walk from her wind-tossed hair
The dust my breath has blown away,
My lips its petals part
And the rose from her loosened locks astray
Is throned above my heart
Ah, recreant rose, nh, luckless rose,
Breeze-riven from hook so dear
I would you were still in that soft repose- And still on my bosom here!
-Alex Derby In National Magazine