The Rose / Theodosia Garrison

The Rose
I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly, Counting it only as a rose to wear A little moment on my heart no more, So many roses had I worn before, So lightly that I scarce believed them there.

But, Lo! this rose between the dusk and dawn Hath turned to very flame upon my breast, A flame that burns the day-long and the night, A flame of very anguish and delight That not for any moment yields me rest.

And I am troubled with a strange, new fear, How would it be if even to your door I came to cry your pitying one day, And you should lightly laugh and lightly say, "That was a rose I gave you — nothing more."