Poem by Robert Williams Buchanan

Roses

Sad, and sweet, and wise,
Here a child reposes,
Dust is on his eyes,
Quietly he lies -
Satan, strew Roses!

Weeping low, creeping slow,
Came the Weary-Wingèd!
Roses red over the dead
Quietly he flingèd.

'I am old', he thought,
'And the world's day closes;
Pale and fever-fraught,
Sadly have I brought
These blood-red Roses.'

By his side the mother came
Shudderingly creeping;
The Devil's and the woman's heart
Bitterly were weeping.

'Swift he came and swift he flew,
Hopeless he reposes;
Waiting on is weary too, -
Wherefore on his grave we strew
Bitter, withering Roses.'

The Devil gripped the woman's heart,
With gall he staunched its bleeding;
Par away, beyond the day,
The Lord heard interceding.

'Lord God, One in Three!
Sure Thy anger closes;
Yesterday I died, and see
The Weary-Wingèd over me
Bitterly streweth Roses.'

The voice cried out, 'Rejoice! rejoice!
There shall be sleep for evil!'
And all the sweetness of God's voice
Passed strangely through the Devil.

1. Nell
2. Barbara Gray
3. Loch Coruisk
4. The Glamour
5. The Starling

Joyce Kilmer Roses ("I went to gather roses and twine them in a ring")

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