The Rose

Thou, o beauty, are one,

Who is dark, with deep red blossom,

And yet you are light, and concealing love,

Spirited within your green foliage.

 

You lift up your head at the rosy sunrise,

And yet droop, at the first hint of sunset,

Why, oh why do you sleep?

 

Your thorns relish the blood of a thousand ones like you,

But yet you, yourself, stand upright,

Don’t you? How are your fears allayed?

 

You cry something from within your loving petal lips,

Which cannot be heard, but can be felt at heart,

Tell me, oh rose, why don’t you,

Ever come down while the sun shines?

 

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