Poem by Menella Bute Smedley

* * *

I went to look for roses
When snow was on the ground,
Alas, a wither'd thorn-bush
Was all the flowers I found!
I thought of summer-blossoms
Alight with dews of morn,
And down I sate me weeping
Beside the barren thorn.
Out spake a grey-hair'd neighbour,—
“O madness! not to know
The time of living roses
Is not the time of snow.”
Fie on such foolish comfort!
It never dried one tear;
I am weeping for my roses
Because they are not here.

1. The Lay of Sir William Wallace
2. The Mother's Lesson
3. A Child's Thought
4. An Anniversary (On the seventh of September, in this dreariest of years)
5. An Anniversary (On the seventh of September, two little years gone by)

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