Elisabeth Barrett Browning
"A Dead Rose"
I
O Rose, who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft nor sweet,
But pale and hard and dry as stubble
wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles
shame thee.
II
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedferow thorns, and take
away
An oder up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now, unsweetened would
forgo thee.
III
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower
to burn,---
If shining now, with not a hue would
light thee.
IV
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined because
If lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now, would darken where it
met thee.
V
The fly that 'lit upon thee
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet
Along thy leaf's pure edges after heat,---
If 'lighting now, would coldly overrun
thee.
VI
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his
hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce
alive,---
If passing now, would blindly over look
thee.
VII
The heart doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! the heart doth smell thee
sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most
complete,
Percieving all those changes that disguise thee.
VIII
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose, than to any roses
bold
Which Julia wears at dances, smiling
cold:---
Lie still upon this heart which breaks
below thee!
✧
