"In Medford grows for you, a rose,"
The doctor said one day
As he went on about his calls
Along Hospital Way.
A single rose, yet no one knows
What that rose meant to me.
To gaze into its pastel heart
And not, eternity.
Always at hand, there on my stand --
Fresh, in my water glass
It gave each hour a gentle shove
As laggingly it passed.
It said, "I'm here just for your cheer
So let your eyes devour me;
And rest your heart within my heart.
It's always soft and flowery."
And as each petal drooped and fell
It still some comfort lent
For consolation stole within
And brought my heart content.
He's on his toes, the man who knows
That patient's heart needs healing.
And that he, also, has a heart
Is sometimes worth revealing.
~~Beulah B. Pearson~~
The Little Garden
A little garden on a bleak hillside
Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow
Lies far into the spring. The sun's pale glow
Is scarcely able to melt patches wide
About the single rose bush. All denied
Of nature's tender ministries. But no, --
For wonder-working faith has made it blow
With flowers many hued and starry-eyed.
Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;
Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove
Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers;
Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night above
Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.
A little garden, loved with a great love!
~~Amy Lowell~~
A Rose
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
Upon a common summer's morn,
A flash of dew, a bee or two,
A breeze
A caper in the trees,--
And I'm a rose!
~~Emily Dickinson~~
As late I rambled in the
happy fields,
What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert;--when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd:
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd.
John Keats - 1884 - Poetical Works
Blue Roses
The Light that Failed
Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love's delight.
She would none of all my posies--
Bade me gather her blue roses.
Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew.
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.
Home I came at wintertide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.
It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest--
