THE PATHOS OF THE ROSE IN POETRY 349 



It remained for Ausonius, in the crepuscular interspace 

 between the sunset of the antique and the night which came 

 before the sunrise of the modern age, to develop thus 

 elaborately the motive of fragility in rose life and in human 

 loveliness. For English readers I have made a translation of 

 his Idyll, which may enable them 'as in a glass darkly ' to 

 perceive its subdued lustre. 



'Twas spring, and dawn returning breathed new-born 



From saffron skies the bracing chill of morn. 



Before day's orient chargers went a breeze, 



That whispered : Eise, the sweets of morning seize ! 



In watered gardens where the cross-paths ran, 



Freshness and health I sought ere noon began : 



I watched from bending grasses how the rime 



In clusters hung, or gemmed the beds of thyme ; 



How the round beads, on herb and leaf outspread, 



Boiled with the weight of dews from heaven's height shed ; 



Saw the rose-gardens in their Psestan bloom 



Hoar 'neath the dawn-star rising through the gloom. 



On every bush those separate splendours gleam, 



Doomed to be quenched by day's first arrowy beam. 



Here might one doubt : doth morn from roses steal 



Their redness, or the rose with dawn anneal ? 



One hue, one dew, one morn makes both serene ; 



Of star and flower one Venus reigns the queen. 



Perchance one scent have they ; the star's o'erhead 



Far, far exhales, the flower's at hand is shed. 



Goddess of star, goddess of rose no less, 



The Paphian flings o'er both her crimson dress. 



Now had the moment passed wherein the brood 



Of clustering buds seemed one twin sisterhood. 



This flower, enlaced with leaves, shows naught but green 



That shoots a roseate streak from forth the screen : 



One opes her pyramid and purple spire, 



Emerging into plenitude of fire : 



Another thrusts her verdant veil aside, 



Counting her petals one by one with pride : 



Expands her radiant cup of gorgeous hue, 



And brings dense hidden veins of gold to view : 



She who had burned erewhile, a flower of flame, 



Now pales and droops her fainting head with shame : 



So that I mused how swift time steals all worth, 



How roses age and wither with their birth ; 



