POETRY OF THE ROSE. 91 



TO A WITHERED ROSE, 



Pale flower pale, fragile, faded flower ; 



What tender recollections swell, 

 What thoughts of deep and thrilling power 



Are kindled in thy mystic spell ! 



A charm is in thy faint perfume, 



To call up visions of the past, 

 Which, through my mind's o'ershadowing gloom, 



" Rush like the rare stars, dim and fast." 



And loveliest shines that evening hour, 

 More dear by time and sorrow made, 



When thou wert cull'd ('love's token flower !') 

 And on my throbbing bosom laid. 



On eve's pale brow one star burned bright, 

 Like heavenward hope, whose soothing dream 



Is veiled from pleasure's dazzled sight, 

 To shine on sorrow's diadem. 



Bright as the tears thy beauty wept, 



The dewdrops on thy petals lay, 

 Till evening's silver winds had swept 



Thy cheek, and kissed them all away. 



WHITMAN. 



TO THE ROSE, 



Dear flower of heaven and love ! thou glorious thing 

 That lookest out the garden nooks among ; 

 Rose, that art ever fair and ever young ; 

 Was it some angel or invisible wing 

 Hover'd around thy fragrant sleep, to fling 



