No rose that in a garden ever grew, <br />In Homer's or in Omar's or in mine, <br />Though buried under centuries of fine <br />Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew <br />Forever, and forever lost from view, <br />But must again in fragrance rich as wine <br />The grey aisles of the air incarnadine <br />When the old summers surge into a new. <br />Thus when I swear, "I love with all my heart," <br />'Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear, <br />'Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece; <br />And thus as well my love must lose some part <br />Of what it is, had Helen been less fair, <br />Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-06-no-rose-that-in-a-garden-ever-grew/
