English poem
Red Rose
by Leila Ellen Macdonald (1871–1944)
Why do your leaves uncurl invisibly? Is it mere pride? When I behold your petals, They lie immovably against your breast; Or opened wide, Your shield thrown wide. But none may watch the unveiling of your pride.
Why do you die so soon, so certainly? Death is disgrace; You should stay dying half your life; Your drooping face Gives you when dying your divinest face. But death's pale colours are your sole disgrace.