Wild Roses

Whence comes that swooning fragrance on the air That riot of rich color on the hill Like smouldering embers? red, deep red, and fair They are, beyond our groping words. We thrill To inner surgings of unuttered things When we behold, strewn o’er this alien lea Exotic bloom that to our spirit sings In perfume sweet as lifting melody, Fresh from immortal Eden’s radiant bowers Where angels coveted our earthly flowers. Like elfin torches tipped with odorous fire Raining their ashen petals on the grass, These flowering censers rouse a wild desire For beauty yet unseen, in those who pass This solitary way. O incense sweet! The bees are drunken with it, the wild bees And dragon flies that hunt this still retreat Far from the world of men. Is it for these That Nature lavishes her perfume rare To scent this moorland waste and wandering air? Wild roses, O but they were meant to be More than the sweet companions of an hour; Theirs is a loftier role, their destiny In this sad world, to glorify the power Of beauty welling up beyond the range Of mortal view. Strange ecstasies concealed Aforetime from our blighting frost and change Aurora’s swinging gates have here revealed; Such perfect beauty as the seraph knows Hid in that floral miracle - a rose.