And Roses! my brown Elsa cries:
Her chubby arms in vain aspire.
But rose-leaf Hilda smiles and sighs
And worships them with patient eyes.
I gathered them a rose or two,
But not the shy one hanging higher
That brushed my lips with honey-dew!
That is the rose I send to you.
Grace Hazard Conkling
PRAYER
Would that I might become you,
Losing myself, my sweet!—
So longs the dust that lies
About the rose's feet.
So longs the last, dim star
Hung on the verge of night;—
She moves—she melts—she slips—
She trembles into the light.
John Hall Wheelock
IN A GARDEN
I sat one day within a garden fair
Pining for thee and sad because alone,
Wishing some fate could send thee to me there.