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172
WHERE THE ROSES GREW.
Tell in whispers faint and low
Of the famished humming-birds,—
Of the bees which search in vain
For the honey-cells again!
Of the famished humming-birds,—
Of the bees which search in vain
For the honey-cells again!
This is where the roses grew,
Till the ground was all perfume,
And, whenever zephyrs blew,
Carpeted with crimson bloom!
Now the chill and scentless air
Sweeps the flower-plats brown and bare.
Till the ground was all perfume,
And, whenever zephyrs blew,
Carpeted with crimson bloom!
Now the chill and scentless air
Sweeps the flower-plats brown and bare.
Hearts have gardens sad as this,
Where the roses bloom no more,—
Gardens where no summer-bliss
Can the summer-bloom restore,—
Where the snow melts not away
At the warming kiss of May;—
Where the roses bloom no more,—
Gardens where no summer-bliss
Can the summer-bloom restore,—
Where the snow melts not away
At the warming kiss of May;—
Gardens where the vernal morns
Never shed their sunshine down,—
Where are only stems and thorns,
Veiled in dead leaves, curled and blown,—
Gardens where we only see
Where the roses used to be!
Never shed their sunshine down,—
Where are only stems and thorns,
Veiled in dead leaves, curled and blown,—
Gardens where we only see
Where the roses used to be!
