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Elizabeth Barrett Browning (6 March 1806 – 29 June 1861 / Durham / England)
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A Dead Rose
O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
Read poems about / on: rose, alone, flower, joy, heart, sun, light, smile, change, dance
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I normally am blind and dud to appreciate old poetry, this one perhaps helped me feel I am not that dumb after all. What a Masterpeice.
I am Lord Voldemort and I will devour your soul
More love, dead rose. great.
Please look at my poems
never a moment would pass without a thought given to this blissful piece...
i owe a lot to the heart that created this piece
i love this article...........Tempest cherishes this
Such elegance in rhyme and meter; so sweet sounding and heart-pounding.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, -
If passing now, -would blindly overlook thee.....
Great art always goes beyond the time. The poem, specially the quoted lines yet so genuinely documentising the passion of time present, great.
How beautiful Her description of a memento of love kept seven years. Yet though fade the love it inspired is still fresh. The contrast to the living roses which have not half the love or life even if it is dried and lifeless. What could be more personal.
this is an extraordinary piece.......never ave i seen or read anyone else avin love 4 a dead rose and feeling debted towards it from heart.......i really believe that heart owes much love to the dead rose 4 it was a heart that fell for it and plucked it from its abode, where it was enjoyin so much of nature's love......, and it wa a heart that shut it up in a drawer to die.
hey, you are really talented! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! altought we have the same name....but i thing there had a lot of differences between us! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! i am sure i'll dont have such a good poem, even the next 10 years...hahahaha^_^great job.