Isa Knox

The Root of Love

    UNTO a goodly tree—	
A rose-tree—in the garden of my heart,
    Grew up my love for thee!

    Truth for its spreading root,
That drew the sweetest virtue of the soil
    Up to the freshest shoot.

    My tree was richly clad;
All generous thoughts and fancies burst the bud,
    And every leaf was glad.

    Then last of all, the flower,
The perfect flower of love, herself proclaimed
    And ruled from hour to hour.

    There came a thunder rain,
But for each full-blown bloom it scattered down,
    Fresh buds it opened twain.

    There came a wind that reft
Both leaf and flower, and broke both branch and stem;
    Only the root was left.

    The root was left, and so
The living rose lay hidden till the time
    When the sweet south should blow.