SONG OF THE ROSE. 
85 
Thoughts of rapture, flushing 
Youthful poet’s cheek, 
Thoughts of glory rushing 
Forth in song to break, 
But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too 
weak. 
Yet, oh ! festal rose, 
I have seen thee lying 
In thy bright repose 
Pillow’d with the dying. 
Thy crimson by the life’s quick blood was 
flying. 
Summer, hope, and love 
O’er that bed of pain, • 
Meet in thee, yet wove 
Too, too frail a claim 
In its embracing links the lovely to detain. 
Smilest thou, gorgeous flower ?— 
O ! within the spells 
Of thy beauty’s power 
Something dimly dwells, 
At variance with a world of sorrows and fare¬ 
wells. 
i) 
