by oosh
In my bosom, vale of woe Let your heartbreak take its flow, Shelter from the world unkind; Deep compassion shall you find. While you knew the briefest joy, Rose did use you as a toy. She nor love nor mercy knows: Heartless, callous, lovely Rose! Velvet armour swathes her thorn: She to fleshly combat born; Lethal, fearsome, lovely Rose - In what tortured soil she grows! Though you think it Cupid's dart, 'Tis her roots that stab thy heart. Drink she must your poison tears, Drinking to allay her fears. With those crimson petalled lips From your toxic well she sips, Drowning out Time's tocsin bell: For it rings her beauty's knell. Every friendship, every care That for love our hearts do bear, Every joy and every woe Our heart's garden make to grow. Every love we celebrate Yields a plot in heart's estate; Fee perpetual we grant Love undying to implant. Though in truth she rules thy heart, Yet 'tis broken: only part Lies contemned at Rose's feet: The greater part doth onward beat. Hearts were made to break and bleed: Full five thousand will they feed. Rose's tiny garden gate Close now, leave inviolate. In that garden, you enshrine Rose's loveliness divine; Beauty from its earthly state Holy love doth elevate. If the birds unheard do sing, In whose ear does music ring? Unseen by adoring eye, Where would Rose's beauty lie? From her everlasting shrine Turn those weeping eyes of thine To the host of blooms unfurled In the garden of the world. Every poem, every song Makes the wounded heart grow strong. Every noble thought you cherish Doth your land the more embellish. Every herb and every flower Has its own especial power To reflect in its own way Undivided light of day. Every plot of land you grant That a seed may there implant, Blossoms into vistas new: Pastures to your heart accrue. Days of sun and years of rain Feed and water garden's gain; Plenitude on every hand Burgeons in your culture-land. Visitors you soon receive: Some will stay and some will leave; Some will pluck at tender shoot, Others in your soil will root. Then will wander through your gates One your beauty captivates. Grant to her a fertile plot: Never touch her! Pluck her not! Do not pick the lovely flowers! How we like to think they're ours! Touch no stem: for sure they'll prick. 'Tis not our lot, but theirs to pick. She who plants with you the vine Hers is fellowship condign; She who tills the earth with you, Hers is fellow worship true. Love and grief the heart expand, Eye adjusts to vistas grand: Garden vast in childhood days Shrinks beneath the adult's gaze. As you roam your vast domain You'll come upon that plot again: Rose's garden, now her shrine, Tiny, perfect, crystalline; Once rejection entry banned Now too small to fit your hand Is the gateway, shrunken thin: Rose's beauty sleeps within. Faded now, her petals wan Where has Rose's beauty gone? Gone where love alone may see: In thy shrine of memory. Pity her who love rejected, Now in loneliness dejected, She no sweet compassion knows – Poor, neglected, loveless Rose! Pray that love her heart will know, Pray that wisdom there will grow, Pray she sees the light divine — Turn then from that little shrine. Turn to her who true love knows, She who ever closer grows, She who breathes your every breath, She who'll mourn you at your death.