THE SINGING ROSE.

White Rose on the grey garden wall,

Where now no night-wind whispereth,

Call to the far-off flowers, and call

With murmured breath and musical

Till all the Roses hear, and all

Sing to my Love what the White Rose saith.

White Rose on the grey garden wall

That long ago we sung!

Again you come at Summer's call,—

Again beneath my windows all

With trellised flowers is hung,

With clusters of the roses white

Like fragrant stars in a green night.

Once more I hear the sister towers

Each unto each reply,

The bloom is on those limes of ours,

The weak wind shakes the bloom in showers,

Snow from a cloudless sky;

There is no change this happy day

Within the College Gardens grey!

St. Mary's, Merton, Magdalen — still

Their sweet bells chime and swing,

The old years answer them, and thrill

A wintry heart against its will

With memories of the Spring —

That Spring we sought the gardens through

For flowers which ne'er in gardens grew!

For we, beside our nurse's knee,

In fairy tales had heard

Of that strange Rose which blossoms free

On boughs of an enchanted tree,

And sings like any bird!

And of the weed beside the way

That leadeth lovers’ steps astray!

In vain we sought the Singing Rose

Whereof old legends tell,

Alas, we found it not mid those

Within the grey old College close,

That budded, flowered, and fell,—

We found that herb called‘ Wandering’

And meet no more, no more in Spring!

Yes, unawares the unhappy grass

That leadeth steps astray,

We trod, and so it came to pass

That never more we twain, alas,

Shall walk the self-same way.

And each must deem, though neither knows,

That NEITHER found the Singing Rose!