Rain and roses

by Jeannette Fraser Henshall

When you have searched the woods as once you did
For specimens of moss and long, dank fern,
Remember, that I too have loved the flowers
But, look no more, no more for my return.

Rainbow Ribbons

BRING me rainbow ribbons
And a band of blue,
Bring me threads of silver
From the moonbeams’ hue.
Bring a pure cloud fleecy,
Snatch a sunbeam bright,
Tints from twilight evenings,
Matchless and just right,
To mate with all her beauty.
These amassed will make the dreams
Tender, pure and holy
Of a girl just turned thirteen.

Bring me rainbow ribbons
From the sunset too
Then a white tho’t from the angels
Who are holding hands with you.
Bring the rosebud’s fragrance
And the apple blossom’s bloom
The hushed voice from the morning
Then leave a little room,
For a thousand transient colors
From a God’s infinite dream
And you’ll have the soul and fancies
Of a girl just turned thirteen.

My Neighbor’s Roses

MY neighbor’s roses always grow
In such a tantalizing row,
Of fragrance and perfume,
A riotous mass of twilight bloom.
And I am tempted oftentimes
When walking where the stray ones climb,
To reach my willing hands out so
And clasp each crimson, flaming glow.
A breeze steals softly thru the day
And brushes them too far away.

Christ! make me kind enough to give
Of roses while my friends yet live.
And if they reach their eager hands,
To where my flowers with clinging bands,
Are nodding, tempting, from the row.
Oh! Christ I pray let breezes blow
A thousand fragrant, tender charms
Into my neighbor’s outstretched arms.
Then keep my burning heart and tho’t,
Tender enough to stay them not.

The Long Twilight

WHEN “Pop” is bald, and my hair is white,
And the stage is set, for a long twilight;
When we are alone in our little den
He with his pipe and I with my pen,
’Twill not be regrets that make us sigh
For we will have things that the world can’t buy.
For we have snatched from the mirth mad throng
A little of love and a deathless song.
A few glad dreams and our tho’ts all white,
The silence of God, in the long twilight.

When “Pop” is bald and my hair is white,
And we’re nearing the end of the long twilight,
’Twill not seem cold in the darksome wood
For we have been friends with solitude.
And often yearned in the shadows cold
For the friendly smiles the gods withold.
Hearts all the braver for the feel of pain,
For a rose grows sweeter every time it rains.