Personal Poems, Complete

WINTER ROSES.

In reply to a flower gift from Mrs. Putnam's school at Jamaica Plain.

     My garden roses long ago
     Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
     Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
     Upon the sweet-brier stalks.

     Gone with the flower-time of my life,
     Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
     And Nature's winter and my own
     Stand, flowerless, side by side.

     So might I yesterday have sung;
     To-day, in bleak December's noon,
     Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
     The rosy wealth of June!

     Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
     And bless the hearts that prompted it;
     If undeserved it comes, at least
     It seems not all unfit.

     Of old my Quaker ancestors
     Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
     To-day as many roses crown
     The gray head of their son.

     And with them, to my fancy's eye,
     The fresh-faced givers smiling come,
     And nine and thirty happy girls
     Make glad a lonely room.

     They bring the atmosphere of youth;
     The light and warmth of long ago
     Are in my heart, and on my cheek
     The airs of morning blow.

     O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,
     And fairer than the gift ye chose,
     For you may years like leaves unfold
     The heart of Sharon's rose.

     1883.