Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To the Rose
To the Rose.
The star of love on evening's brow hath smiled,
Showering her golden influence with her beam;
Hashed is the ocean wave, and soft and mild
The breathing zephyr; lulled is every stream,
Placid and gentle as a vestal's dream,
The bard of night, the angel of the spring,
O'er the wild minstrels of the grove supreme,
Near his betrothèd flower expands his wing—
Wake, lovely rose, awake, and hear thy poet sing!
Showering her golden influence with her beam;
Hashed is the ocean wave, and soft and mild
The breathing zephyr; lulled is every stream,
Placid and gentle as a vestal's dream,
The bard of night, the angel of the spring,
O'er the wild minstrels of the grove supreme,
Near his betrothèd flower expands his wing—
Wake, lovely rose, awake, and hear thy poet sing!
The night is past; wake, Queen of every flower,
Breathing the soul of spring in thy perfume;
The pearls of morning are thy wedding dower,
Thy bridal garment is a robe of bloom!
Wake, lovely flower! for now the winter's gloom,
Hath wept itself in April showers away;
Wake, lovely flower! and bid thy smiles assume
A kindred brightness with the rosy ray
That streaks the floating clouds with the young blush of day.
Breathing the soul of spring in thy perfume;
The pearls of morning are thy wedding dower,
Thy bridal garment is a robe of bloom!
Wake, lovely flower! for now the winter's gloom,
Hath wept itself in April showers away;
Wake, lovely flower! and bid thy smiles assume
A kindred brightness with the rosy ray
That streaks the floating clouds with the young blush of day.