BALLADE OF THE ROSE

Tell me, red rose, what you were bid— You know her secret; you she wore Shy, nestling in her hair, half hid By jealous golden curls a score, As waves half timid kiss the shore, Then tremble were they bold or no; I kiss you, blushing token, for She loves me—rose, you tell me so. I softly raise your scented lid, Where, sleeping since some dawn of yore, A crystal dewdrop lies amid The downy crimson of your core. I am not versed in Cupid’s lore; But so I think her blushing glow Soft guards the love I sue her for. She loves me—rose, you tell me so. And when her hand, in dainty kid, Gave you to me, as n’er before It fluttered, tried itself to rid Of fetters that it never wore, Why trembled she? My eyes would pour My love in hers—why did she so? Was it because she hates me, or— She loves me—rose, you tell me so. L’ENVOY Rose, come you not ambassador From Cupid’s court to let me know Love yields at last? Speak, I implore! She loves me—rose, you tell me so. H. C. Faulkner.