English poem
The Rosebuds
by Henry Timrod
Yes, in that dainty ivory shrine, With those three pallid buds, I twine And fold away a dream divine!
One night they lay upon a breast Where Love hath made his fragrant nest, And throned me as a life-long guest.
Near that chaste heart they seemed to me Types of far fairer flowers to be— The rosebuds of a human tree!
Buds that shall bloom beside my hearth, And there be held of richer worth Than all the kingliest gems of earth.
Ah me! the pathos of the thought! I had not deemed she wanted aught; Yet what a tenderer charm it wrought!
I know not if she marked the flame That lit my cheek, but not from shame, When one sweet image dimly came.
There was a murmur soft and low; White folds of cambric, parted slow; And little fingers played with snow!
How far my fancy dared to stray, A lover's reverence needs not say— Enough—the vision passed away!
Passed in a mist of happy tears, While something in my trancèd ears Hummed like the future in a seer's!