The Rose was given to man for this: <br /> He, sudden seeing it in later years, <br />Should swift remember Love's first lingering kiss <br /> And Grief's last lingering tears; <br />Or, being blind, should feel its yearning soul <br /> Knit all its piercing perfume round his own, <br />Till he should see on memory's ample scroll <br /> All roses he had known; <br /> <br />Or, being hard, perchance his finger-tips <br /> Careless might touch the satin of its cup, <br />And he should feel a dead babe's budding lips <br /> To his lips lifted up; <br /> <br />Or, being deaf and smitten with its star, <br /> Should, on a sudden, almost hear a lark <br />Rush singing upthe nightingale afar <br /> Sing through the dew-bright dark; <br /> <br />Or, sorrow-lost in paths that round and round <br /> Circle old graves, its keen and vital breath <br />Should call to him within the yew's bleak bound <br /> Of Life, and not of Death.<br /><br />Isabella Valancy Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rose-144/
