This friendly garden, with its fragrant roses,—
It was not ours, when she was here below;
And so, in that low bed where she reposes,
The beauty of it all she cannot know.
But in the evening when the birds are calling
The fragrance rises like a breath of myrrh,
And in my empty heart, benignly falling,
Becomes a little prayer to send to her.
So, in that silent, lonely bed that holds her,
Where nevermore the shadows rise or flee,
I think a dream of radiant spring enfolds her—
Of bloom and bird and bending bough ... and me.
Louis Dodge
ÆRE PERENNIUS
As long as the stars of God
Hang steadfast in the sky,
And the blossoms 'neath the sod
Awake when Spring is nigh;
As long as the nightingale
Sings love-songs to the rose,
And the Winter wind in the vale
Makes moan o'er the virgin snows—
As long as these things be
I would tell my love for thee!
As long as the rose of June
Bursts forth in crimson fire,
And the mellow harvest-moon
Shines over hill and spire;
As long as heaven's dew
At morning kisses the sod;
As long as you are you,
And I know that God is God—
As long as these things be
I would tell my love for thee!
Charles Hanson Towne
EVER THE SAME
King Solomon walked a thousand times
Forth of his garden-close;
And saw there spring no goodlier thing,
Be sure, than the same little rose.