I plucked a rose from out a bower fair, <br />That overhung my garden seat; <br />And wondered I if, e'er before, bloomed there <br />A rose so sweet. <br /> <br />Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt the thorn <br />That pricked me as I pulled the bud; <br />Till I beheld the rose that summer morn, <br />Stained with my blood. <br /> <br />I sang a song that thrilled the evening air <br />With beauty somewhat kin to love, <br />And all men know that lyric song so rare <br />Came from above. <br /> <br />And men rejoice to hear the golden strain; <br />But no man knew the price I paid, <br />Nor cared that out of my soul'd deathless pain <br />The song was made.<br /><br />Joseph Seamon Cotter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/compensation-3/
