The Poetry of the Rose. 45 



That oath he broke not. But the tilt was short ; 

 I left him lying wounded in the dust. 

 His fall at court occasion'd a sensation ; 

 They said thy knight had got a mortal thrust : 

 And all the common flowers, that many a year 

 Had envied thee because thou art so fair, 

 Were laughing at thee and thy cavalier. 

 But come with me, and I will guide thee where 

 His end draws near." 



" Had I but wings ! " the poor Rose sighed again. 

 "Thou hast them," that perfidious Wind replied, 

 "And I will show thee how to use them." Then 

 He breath'd upon the Rose, and undenied 

 Pluckt from her one by one her petals fair, 



And stript her bare 

 Of all her beauty. Soon, dissatisfied 

 With his sweet theft, along the thankless air 

 He tost the stolen petals here and there, 

 And, fleeting, sigh'd. 



The Earl of Lytton. 



THE GARLAND WEAVER. 



Adapted from the Greek Anthology. 



To-day when dawn was dim I went 

 Before the garland weaver's stall, 

 And saw a girl whose beauty sent, 

 Like stars of autumn when they fall, 

 An arrow of swift fire that left 

 Glory upon the gloom it cleft. 



Roses she wove to make a wreath, 

 And roses were her cheeks and lips, 

 And faintly flushed the flowers beneath 

 The roses of her finger tips ; 

 She saw me stand in mute amaze, 

 And rosy blushes met my gaze. 



" O flower that weavest flowers," I said, 

 "Fair wreath where myrtle blossoms while 

 Mingle with Cyprian petals red 

 For love's ineffable delight, 

 Tell me what god or hero blest 

 Shall bind thy blossoms to his breast ! 



Or can it be that even I, 



Who am thy slave to save or slay, 



With price of prayers or tears may buy 



Thy Roses ere they fade away ? " 



She smiled, and deeper blushed, and laid 



One finger on her lip, and said : 



