Rhodalind Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

In the palace garden-close
Many a flower buds and blows, -
Many a lily, ne'er a rose;
And, when on the purple fells
Hum the bees in heather bells, -
Dreamy eyes and listless mind,
Wandered there Queen Rhodlind.

When the sun drew toward the West,
There she walked, in splendour drest,
And her head drooped on her breast,
And her pale lips never smiled
As the summer hours she whiled, -
Pluckt the lilies, passing by, -
Heedless, let them fall and die.

But as once she wandered slow
Where the flowers bud and blow,
In the summer sunshine's glow,
Close against the eastern wall
Where the slanting sunbeams fall,
Scenting all the sleepy air,
Lo! a rose-tree blossomed there.

And to pluck its flowers she sped
Till her snowy hands were red
With the blood its thorns had shed;
And she reveled 'mid her bowers,
Till her lips were like her flowers,
Ruddy as the reddest rose,
Blooming in her garden-close.