Blood on the Rose.

Is it dew on the rose?

‘ T is the same that I gave him

Last night when I chose

To warn him and save him;

That he pinned on his breast

With a smile at his danger,

And a smile, not in jest,

That was sweeter and stranger

Here are footprints of foes!

Oh, my heart!— I can feel

It is blood on the rose

And a sliver of steel.