  L Last night a little rose of love was laid Softly in this poor hand, by one who knew Not what most gracious breeze from heaven blew The blossom in his path; but since, he said, All loveliest things he summoned to his aid To win me,—let the fragrant flower that grew Surely in Paradise to help him woo And gain his wish,—be mine; then half afraid, Here on my breast I laid it, where it glows With such rich sudden beauty, that my eyes, Quickened by some new instinct, recognize What is indeed my own; for the fair rose,— The rose of love bewilderingly sweet— |
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