I. <br />Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts, <br />Live not through the waste of time! <br />Love’s rose a host of thorns invests; <br />Cold, ungenial is the clime, <br />Where its honours blow. <br />Youth says, ‘The purple flowers are mine,’ <br />Which die the while they glow. <br /> <br />II. <br />Dear the boon to Fancy given, <br />Retracted whilst it’s granted: <br />Sweet the rose which lives in Heaven, <br />Although on earth ’tis planted, <br />Where its honours blow, <br />While by earth’s slaves the leaves are riven <br />Which die the while they glow. <br /> <br />III. <br />Age cannot Love destroy, <br />But perfidy can blast the flower, <br />Even when in most unwary hour <br />It blooms in Fancy’s bower. <br />Age cannot Love destroy, <br />But perfidy can rend the shrine <br />In which its vermeil splendours shine.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-s-rose-2/
