POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
91 
A SONG OF THE ROSE. 
Kose ! what dost thou here ? 
Bridal, royal rose ? 
How, ’midst grief and fear, 
Canst thou thus disclose 
That fervid hue of love, which to thy heart-leaf 
glows ? 
Eose ! too much arrayed 
For triumphal hours, 
Look’st thou through the shade 
Of these mortal bowers. 
Not to disturb my soul, thou crown’d one of all 
flowers ! 
As an eagle soaring 
Through a sunny sky, 
As a clarion pouring 
Notes of victory. 
So dost thou kindle thoughts, for early life too 
high— 
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, 
