Sonnet
The sweet caresses that I gave to you
Are but the perfume of the Rose of Love,
The color and the witchery thereof,
And not the Rose itself. Each is a clue
Merely, whereby to seek the hidden, true,
Substantial blossom. Like the Jordan dove
A kiss is but a symbol from above—
An emblem the Reality shines through.
The Rose of Love is ever unrevealed
In all its beauty, for the sight of it
Were perilous with purpose of the world.
The hand of Life has cautiously concealed
The pollen-chamber of the infinite
Flower, and its petals only half uncurled.
Elsa Barker