The Rose

By Nora May French

Ay, pluck a jonquil when the May"s awing!
    Or please you with a rose upon the breast,
    A sweeter violet chosen from the rest,
To match your mood with blue caprice of spring—
Leave windy vines a tendril less to swing.
    Why, what"s a flower? A day"s delight at best,
    A perfume loved, a faded petal pressed,
A whimsey for an hour"s remembering.

But wondrous careful must he draw the rose
    From jealous earth, who seeks to set anew
    Deep root, young leafage, with a gardener"s art—
To plant her queen of all his garden close,
    And make his varying fancy wind and dew.
    Cloud, rain, and sunshine for one woman"s heart.

footnote: "'The Rose' was written for Mr. Porter Garnett on the occasion of his marriage."