High climbs June's wild rose, <br />Her bush all blooms in a swarm; <br />And swift from the bud she blows, <br />In a day when the wooer is warm; <br />Frank to receive and give, <br />Her bosom is open to bee and sun: <br />Pride she has none, <br />Nor shame she knows; <br />Happy to live. <br /> <br />Unlike those of the garden nigh, <br />Her queenly sisters enthroned by art; <br />Loosening petals one by one <br />To the fiery Passion's dart <br />Superbly shy. <br />For them in some glory of hair, <br />Or nest of the heaving mounds to lie, <br />Or path of the bride bestrew. <br />Ever are they the theme for song. <br />But nought of that is her share. <br />Hardly from wayfarers tramping along, <br />A glance they care not to renew. <br /> <br />And she at a word of the claims of kin <br />Shrinks to the level of roads and meads: <br />She is only a plain princess of the weeds, <br />As an outcast witless of sin: <br />Much disregarded, save by the few <br />Who love her, that has not a spot of deceit, <br />No promise of sweet beyond sweet, <br />Often descending to sour. <br />On any fair breast she would die in an hour. <br />Praises she scarce could bear, <br />Were any wild poet to praise. <br />Her aim is to rise into light and air. <br />One of the darlings of Earth, no more, <br />And little it seems in the dusty ways, <br />Unless to the grasses nodding beneath; <br />The bird clapping wings to soar, <br />The clouds of an evetide's wreath.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wild-rose/
