I. -- Red. <br /> <br /> Would that my songs might be <br /> What roses make by day and night -- <br />Distillments of my clod of misery <br /> Into delight. <br /> <br /> Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast <br /> As yon red rose, and dare the day, <br />All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest? <br /> Say yea -- say yea! <br /> <br /> Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye; <br /> The wind is up; so; drift away. <br />That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly, <br /> I strive, I pray. <br /> <br /> <br /> II. -- White. <br /> <br /> Soul, get thee to the heart <br /> Of yonder tuberose: hide thee there -- <br />There breathe the meditations of thine art <br /> Suffused with prayer. <br /> <br /> Of spirit grave yet light, <br /> How fervent fragrances uprise <br />Pure-born from these most rich and yet most white <br /> Virginities! <br /> <br /> Mulched with unsavory death, <br /> Grow, Soul! unto such white estate, <br />That virginal-prayerful art shall be thy breath, <br /> Thy work, thy fate.<br /><br />Sidney Lanier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rose-morals/
