Parables
I
Dear Love, you ask if I be true,
If other women move
The heart that only beats for you
With pulses all of love.
Out in the chilly dew one morn
I plucked a wild sweet rose,
A little silver bud new-born
And longing to unclose.
I took it, loving new-born things,
I knew my heart was warm,
‘O little silver rose, come in
And shelter from the storm.’
And soon, against my body pressed,
I felt its petals part,
And, looking down within my breast
I saw its golden heart.
O such a golden heart it has,
Your eyes may never see,
To others it is always shut,
It opens but for me.
But that is why you see me pass
The honeysuckle there,
And leave the lilies in the grass,
Although they be so fair;
Why the strange orchid half—accurst—
Circe of flowers she grows–
Can tempt me not: see! in my heart,
Silver and gold, my rose.
II
Deep in a hidden lane we were,
My little love and I;
When lo! as we stood kissing there–
A flower against the sky!
Frail as a tear its beauty hung–
O spare it, little hand.
But innocence like its, alas!
Desire may not withstand.
And so I clambered up the bank
And threw the blossom down,
But we were sadder for its sake
As we walked back to town.
