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Poem by Arthur William Symons


There are nine rubies in this Indian ring,
And every blood-red ruby is a part
Of the nine-petalled rose that is my heart,
The elaborate rose of my own fashioning.
Not out of any garden have I sought
The rose that is more brief than dawn or dew:
Stones of the flame and ice, I find in you
The image of the heart that I have wrought.
For you are cold and burn as though with fire,
For you are hard, yet veil soft depths below,
And each divided ruby seems to glow
With the brief passion of its own desire.
Rose of my heart, shall this too be the same?
For, when one light catches the wandering rays,
They rush together in one consuming blaze
Of indivisible and ecstatic flame. 

Arthur William Symons

Arthur William Symons's other poems:
  1. Serata Di Fiesta
  2. By The Pool Of The Third Rosses
  3. Before the Squall
  4. To a Grey Dress
  5. Perfume

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Ralph Emerson Rubies ("THEY brought me rubies from the mine")

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