THE ROSE OF LOVE

The flowers closed their autumn bloom

Awhile the bleak winds blew,

And meekly bowing to their doom

They lay in shroud of frozen gloom

The whole long winter through.

There's ever been the same sad tale

To tell of Nature's loves;

Her artful methods never fail

To win the hearts they once assail,

Though she inconstant proves.

Last spring I heard the whisperings low

To modest Daffodil

That won her smile ere yet the snow

Had melted and begun its flow

Adown the little rill.

And soon her soft caresses proved

Too much for Meadow Rue;

And next Anemone was moved;

Spring Beauty whom the nymphs had loved

In shady woods to woo.

But some less trustful, still were slow

To yield their loves’ perfume,

Till, melted by the summer's glow,

They let their pent-up passions flow

Through many colored bloom.

But Nature soon withdrew her smile;

I saw their petals pale

And droop, now conscious of the guile

Their fickle lover used the while

She wooed them in the vale.

All winter I had breathed upon

The clos-ed bud of love;

Its milk-white petals, one by one

At last unfolded in the sun

My heart had longed to prove.

And when it reached its full broad blow

It shed a fragrance sweet

From out its bosom lilied snow,—

And incense that the gods I know

Had smiled with joy to greet.

And Nature now begins again

Her courtship with the flowers;

She chants in groves her minstrel strain,

She smiles, and frowns, and weeps in rain

Of gentle April showers.

And while she tries with song of thrush

Once more those hearts to move,

I've seen her oft relentless crush,—

My bud still blooms forever fresh —

It is the Rose of Love!