ON BESSIE G. COLQUHOUN

I N beauty on its parent stem
 I saw a bright wee rosebud smile,
A lovely fragrant little gem,
 I watched its opening for a while.
I wished to screen my fragile flower
 From wintry winds, from frosts and snows,
To keep it in some sunny bower,
 A precious amaranthine rose.
A voice said, Hush! dost thou not know
 No amaranth on earth can bloom;
Death breathes on all things here below,
 The world's one universal tomb.
The rain will on thy blossom beat,
 The tempest ruffle its repose;
But yet the sun will give its heat,
 The dew its vigour, to thy rose.
Ask nought; but when its leaves will fall,
 In nature's course, into the grave,
'Twill have so richly bloomed that all
 Will miss the gladness that it gave;
And when in the great spring again
 Thy bud its beauties shall disclose,
That by life's river it may then
 Be found an amaranthine rose.