My garden roses long ago <br />Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks; <br />Their pale, fair sisters smile no more <br />Upon the sweet-brier stalks. <br /> <br />Gone with the flower-time of my life, <br />Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride, <br />And Nature's winter and my own <br />Stand, flowerless, side by side. <br /> <br />So might I yesterday have sung; <br />To-day, in bleak December's noon, <br />Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues, <br />The rosy wealth of June! <br /> <br />Bless the young bands that culled the gift, <br />And bless the hearts that prompted it; <br />If undeserved it comes, at least <br />It seems not all unfit. <br /> <br />Of old my Quaker ancestors <br />Had gifts of forty stripes save one; <br />To-day as many roses crown <br />The gray head of their son. <br /> <br />And with them, to my fancy's eye, <br />The fresh-faced givers smiling come, <br />And nine and thirty happy girls <br />Make glad a lonely room. <br /> <br />They bring the atmosphere of youth; <br />The light and warmth of long ago <br />Are in my heart, and on my cheek <br />The airs of morning blow. <br /> <br />O buds of girlhood, yet unblown, <br />And fairer than the gift ye chose, <br />For you may years like leaves unfold <br />The heart of Sharon's rose<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-roses-2/
