"MY SOUL IS LIKE A GARDEN-CLOSE"
My soul is like a garden-close
Where marjoram and lilac grow,
Where soft the scent of long ago
Over the border lightly blows.
Where sometimes homing winds at play
Bear the faint fragrance of a rose—
My soul is like a garden-close
Because you chanced to pass my way.
Thomas S. Jones, Jr.
A DREAM
I dreamed a dream of roses somewhere breathing
Their sweet souls out upon the summer night:
The flowers I saw not, but their fragrance wreathing
Like clouds of incense filled me with delight.
And then as if for my still further pleasure
There came a flood of sweetest melody,—
But whence I knew not flowed the wondrous measure,
For neither flute nor viol could I see.
Then in the vision love sublime, immortal,
Encircled all my soul with its pure stream;
And though I saw thee not through dreamland's portal,
I knew thou only hadst inspired the dream.
'Tis thus thine influence itself discloses,
In dreams of love, of music, and of roses!
Antoinette De Coursey Patterson
THE ROSE
The rose-tree wears a diadem,
Both bud and bloom of gold and fire,
Too high upon the slender stem
For baby hands that reach for them: