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Poem by Robert Seymour Bridges

* * *

Poor withered rose and dry,
  Skeleton of a rose,
Risen to testify
  To loves sad close:

Treasured for loves sweet sake,
  That of joy past
Thou mightst again awake
  Memory at last.

Yet is thy perfume sweet;
  Thy petals red
Yet tell of summer heat,
  And the gay bed:

Yet, yet recall the glow
  Of the gazing sun,
When at thy bush we two
  Joined hands in one.

But, rose, thou hast not seen,
  Thou hast not wept
The change that passed between,
  Whilst thou hast slept.

To me thou seemest yet
  The dead dreams thrall:
While I live and forget
  Dream, truth and all.

Thou art more fresh than I,
  Rose, sweet and red:
Salt on my pale cheeks lie
  The tears I shed.

Robert Seymour Bridges

Robert Seymour Bridges's other poems:
  1. The Palm Willow
  2. January
  3. To Catullus
  4. To Joseph Joachim
  5. A Robin

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