256 
LAY OF THE BOSE. 
Whereat the earth did seem 
To waken from a dream, 
Winter frozen, winter frozen, 
Her anguish eyes unclosing. 
Said to the rose, (( Ha, Snow ! 
And art thou fallen so ? 
Thou who wert enthroned stately 
Along my mountains lately. 
Holla, thou world-wide snow 
And art thou wasted so ? 
With a little bough to catch thee 
And a little bee to watch thee ?” 
Poor rose, to be misknown ! 
Would she had ne’er been blown, 
In her loneness, in her loneness, 
All the the sadder for that oneness. 
Some words she tried to say, 
Some sigh—ah, well away ! 
But the passion did o’ercome her. 
And the fair frail leaves dropp’d from her. 
