There are nine rubies in this Indian ring, <br />And every blood-red ruby is a part <br />Of the nine-petalled rose that is my heart, <br />The elaborate rose of my own fashioning. <br />Not out of any garden have I sought <br />The rose that is more brief than dawn or dew: <br />Stones of the flame and ice, I find in you <br />The image of the heart that I have wrought. <br />For you are cold and burn as though with fire, <br />For you are hard, yet veil soft depths below, <br />And each divided ruby seems to glow <br />With the brief passion of its own desire. <br />Rose of my heart, shall this too be the same? <br />For, when one light catches the wandering rays, <br />They rush together in one consuming blaze <br />Of indivisible and ecstatic flame.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rubies-3/
