Classic Poem

Beneath a burning summer sky
A queenly flower proudly grows,
And flings its branches far and high,
The sweet perfection of a rose.

The petals five are white as snow,
Like orient pearls their lustre fair
The crowded golden stamens grow
Within this cup of beauty rare.

And far, and faint, and sweet its breath,
A shadow, phantom of perfume;
Too faint for life, too sweet for death,
The fragrance pale as in the bloom.

Fair southern flower! did the sun
Blanch thy pale cheek with ardent gaze,
Then weave thee for the love he won
Thy golden crown from his own rays?