After long exile, to the mother tongue.
THE ROSE.
I.
N his tower sat the poet
Gazing on the roaring sea,
“Take this rose,” he sighed, “and throw it
Where there’s none that loveth me.
On the rock the billow bursteth,
After long exile, to the mother tongue.
THE ROSE.
I.
N his tower sat the poet
Gazing on the roaring sea,
“Take this rose,” he sighed, “and throw it
Where there’s none that loveth me.
On the rock the billow bursteth,