Classic Poem

A BLUSH-ROSE lay in the summer;
There were golden lights in the sky,
And a woman saw the blossom
As she stood with her lover nigh.

A band in the flowering distance
Play'd a dreamy Italian air,
Like a memory changed to music,
And it drifted everywhere.

'Twas an exiled love of its Southland,
That air, and its delicate wails
Were only the wandering echoes
Of the songs of nightingales.

" I love you, " he tenderly whisper'd;
" I love you, " she answer'd as low:
And the music grew sweeter and sweeter,
Because it had listen'd, I know.

But she look'd at the rose in the summer,
And said, with a tremulous tear,
" The love that now beats in my bosom
Will bloom in a blush-rose next year. "

A blush-rose lay in the summer;
There were golden lights in the sky,
And a woman saw the blossom —
As she stood with her lover nigh.

The band in the flowering distance
Play'd the dreamy Italian air,
Like a memory changed to music,
And it drifted everywhere.

" I love you, " he tenderly whisper'd;
" I love you, " she timidly said:
And the music grew sadder and sadder,
And the blush-rose before them dropp'd dead.

Then he knew that the music remember'd,
And knew the love that had beat
Last year in her beautiful bosom
Lay dead in the rose at his feet.