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THE ROSE'S MESSAGE. 



LADY, I come not now to deck 



That circlet on thy brow ; 

 To worship, in my beauty's wreck, 



A thing so bright as thou. 

 I come from one thou knowest well, 



Here at thy footstool, for his sake, 

 A tale of mutual griefs to tell, 



And faults that, in confession, make 



That mission sad which else would be 

 A punishment too sweet for me. 



Proud dreams, for earthly hearts unfit, 



Vengeance the cup divine, 

 Which is so sweet, that men with it 



Are drunken, as with wine. 

 Scorn for the lowly ones around 



Envy of every fairer thing 

 Hatred and jealousy profound 



Deep love that brooks not rivalling 



Weakness, that with our birth began- 

 Or faults that we have learned of man. 



Such are my crimes ; the tale is read, 



And pity none I seek 

 Though he who sent me hither said, 



Thy lips my doom should speak. 

 Would'st give me life ? 'Twere mercy vain 



My leaves, once heavy with sweet dew, 

 Hang parch'd and faint no sun again 



Shall in this wasted cheek renew 

 Yet listen, lady, I must plead 

 For one whose hope has greater need. 



I name him not. False tongues have shed 



Their venom on the word ; 

 Soon by the distant and the dead 



Is this world's slight incurred. 

 Yet he was once the child of fame, 



And loved thee, lady loved thee when 

 His 'scutcheon was unsoiled his name 



Seemed fair upon the lips of men ; 



And the proud heart and stubborn knee 

 Were never humbled, save to thee. 



But this is altered gone the light 



Of triumph from his brow ; 

 The world's discarded favourite 



Has none to love him now. 

 O think, when busy slanders creep 



Into thine ear, that men can lie ; 

 And love, like his, so pure, so deep, 



Hearts, worthless else, can sanctify. 

 Lady, he knows not grief or fear, 

 If thou but hold the exile dear. 



