Classic Poem

BENEATH the rose, who knows?
Perchance a serpent lurketh there,
Safe-screened within that bosom fair;
And passion's lightest breath that blows
May all the turpitude disclose
Clandestine there, beneath the rose! —
Who knows?

Beneath the rose, who knows?
Perchance a wrong is burning there,
A brand upon that bosom fair,
That wider, deeper, hourly grows —
A brand that ever flames and glows,
Suspected not, beneath the rose! —
Who knows?

Beneath the rose, who knows?
Perchance a love is dying there,
Enfamished on that bosom fair —
A starveling, whose expiring throes
Are witnessed not by friends or foes
Who cannot see beneath the rose! —
Who knows?

Beneath the rose, who knows?
Perchance a joy is hiding there,
And madly thrills that bosom fair!
Whate'er there be, it never shows;
She still doth smile and calmly pose!
Can there be naught beneath the rose? —