Ballade of the Rose
Tell me, red rose, what you were bid—
You know her secret; you she wore
Shy, nestling in her hair, half hid
By jealous golden curls a score,
As waves half timid kiss the shore,
Then tremble were they bold or no;
I kiss you, blushing token, for
She loves me—rose, you tell me so.
I softly raise your scented lid,
Where, sleeping since some dawn of yore,
A crystal dewdrop lies amid
The downy crimson of your core.
I am not versed in Cupid’s lore;
But so I think her blushing glow
Soft guards the love I sue her for.
She loves me—rose, you tell me so.
And when her hand, in dainty kid,
Gave you to me, as n’er before
It fluttered, tried itself to rid
Of fetters that it never wore,
Why trembled she? My eyes would pour
My love in hers—why did she so?
Was it because she hates me, or—
She loves me—rose, you tell me so.
L’ENVOY
Rose, come you not ambassador
From Cupid’s court to let me know
Love yields at last? Speak, I implore!
She loves me—rose, you tell me so.
H. C. Faulkner.