Sonnet: 1: The Rose-Bush


I would not rob that rose-bush of a flower, —
No! not for all the charms of Mary's smile,
Although she begged the blooming gift the while
With all a lovely woman's softening power:
No! for that glowing shrub at morning's hour,
While bending o'er the bank of yonder isle,
Can with its spangled gems my soul beguile,
Such soothing influence hath a dewy flower.
And, Mary, when I see thee gently bending
O'er yonder monument, where Laura lies,
Where marble-snow and crimson blooms are blending,
Methinks I see an angel in thine eyes,
While heavenly tears, in crystal drops descending,
Tell of our anguish when a sister dies.
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