Classic Poem

This was the rose that yesterday
Made my nook of the garden gay;
Bonnie and blithe and debonair,
Kissed of the sun and summer air,
Sweet coquette in a ruffled dress,
Glad of life and its loveliness.
Would I had thought it greater sin
Thus to pluck it and bring it in,
Here where the dusk of the sunless room
Blurred its beauty and killed its bloom,
Till none would say this drooping thing
Once was merriest child of Spring.
Only a fading rose, and yet,
Wakes in my heart a strange regret,
Such as might come if one should see
Columbine in her tragedy,
Or a laughter-loving, little Pierrette,
A sob in her throat and her blue eyes wet.