Poems / by James G. Percival [electronic text]

ROSE OF MY HEART.

ROSE of my heart! I've raised for thee a bower,For thee have bent the pliant osier round, For thee have carpeted with turf the ground, And trained a canopy to shield thy flower, So that the warmest sun can have no power To dry the dew from off thy leaf, and pale Thy living carmine, but a woven veil Of full-green vines shall guard from heat and shower— Rose of my heart! here, in this dim alcove, No worm shall nestle, and no wandering bee Shall suck thy sweets, no blight shall wither thee, But thou shalt show the freshest hue of love. Like the red stream, that from Adonis flowed, And made the snow carnation, thou shalt blush, And fays shall wander from their bright abode To flit enchanted round thy loaded bush. Bowed with thy fragrant burden, thou shalt bend Thy slender twigs and thorny branches low: Vermilion and the purest foam shall blend; These shall be pale, and those in youth's first glow: Their tints shall form one sweetest harmony,

And on some leaves the damask shall prevail, Whose colours melt, like the soft symphony Of flutes and voices in the distant dale. The bosom of that flower shall be as white, As hearts that love, and love alone, are pure, Its tip shall blush, as beautiful and bright, As are the gayest streaks of dawning light, Or rubies set within a brimming ewer— Rose of my heart! there thou shalt ever bloom, Safe in the shelter of my perfect love, And when they lay thee in the dark cold tomb, I'll find thee out a better bower above.