Classic Poem

OF FLOWERS

There were no roses till the first child died,
No violets, nor balmy-breathed heart's-ease,
No heliotrope, nor buds so dear to bees,
The honey-hearted suckle, no gold-eyed
And lowly dandelion, nor, stretching wide,
Clover and cowslip-cups, like rival seas,
Meeting and parting as the young spring breeze
Runs giddy races playing seek and hide:
For all flowers died when Eve left Paradise;
And all the world was flowerless awhile,
Until a little child was laid in earth;
Then from its grave grew violets for its eyes,
And from its lips rose-petals for its smile,
And so all flowers from that child's death took birth.

I

THE CHILD .

In the late winter, when the breath of spring
Had almost softened the great fields of snow,
A mother died, and, wandering to and fro,
Her sad child sought her — frightened little thing! —
Through the drear woodland, as on timid wing
A young bird flutters; in the bushes low
It sunk in sleep, thus losing all its woe,
With smiling lips her dear name murmuring;
No loving arms were there to hold it fast,
There were no kisses for it warm and sweet,
But snowflakes, pitying, fell like frozen tears.
Then said its angel, " Snowflakes, ye shall last
Beyond the life of snowflakes; at Spring's feet
Bloom ye as flowers through all the coming years! "

II.

MARGARET .

Ashamed before the world a woman stood
Near a great church, where lovely statues line
The vaulted chapels; if tears be a sign
Of sorrow, she was sorrowing; her hood
Showed golden hair astray that never could,
Even in sin, forget its young design
To curl like tendrils of a summer vine.
From out the church passed women sternly good;
Upon her fevered brow was laid no hand,
Though Christ had blessed her sister Magdalen;
She wept and prayed, yet scornful words were said;
But soon soft snowflakes, falling o'er the land,
Soothed her hot brow: her angel spoke, " These , then,
Shall bloom as flowers when ye lie cold and dead. "

III.

A ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE .

A fairer light than ever since has shone,
Fell on that garden where Queen Eve's sweet bower
Was hid in roses and the jasmine flower,
Curtained with eglantine, and overrun
With morning-glories glowing in the sun
Late into noon, unheeding of the hour
When now they close; these were our mother's dower!
She lived and loved amid all flowers, save one.
There was no red rose in the garden wide
Of all her world, until its mistress went
From out its gates with roses in her hand,
Spoil of past joys; then, like a new-made bride,
She redly blushed, and that first blush has lent
The rose its color over all our land.