O young fresh rose, O tender rose,
O rose so young, so newly born,
Whose petals fair do now unclose
To the radiant kisses of the air,
And the shell-soft lips of the morn,
To the heavens holy and bare!
Lovely, young, fresh rose,
Frail-framed and lapped in dew,
O born like a virgin anew
After a time of bale and scorn,
Storm-wind shattering the boughs
Of the tall trees turn by turn:
But thou art still abiding
Amid the slender veins of thy house,
Like an immaculate lady,
Very beautiful and causing the eyes of the beholders
To weep strange tears of joy!
_GERALD H. CROW_
(_HERTFORD_)