The Rose’s Melancholy Fate

In soft embrace of sun, sweet Nature's womb,

The rose doth bask, content its blush to bear;

And unadorned, in all its bated bloom,

Revels 'midst verdant fields both rich and rare.

Yet, tho' beholden to this fervent light,

Regret the rosy face shall find in haste,

When dull embrace comes conquering the night,

And sober solitude, its vital waste.

For soon shall shadows cast in lowering skies,

Like jealous thoughts o'er kindling heart be thrown;

And wretched, wilting, burdened flower sighs -

Its beauty shivering in the cold, unknown.

The rose hath failed to heed Love's subtle chill,

Ere heart of winter doth its longing kill.