Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest,
Was hanging her head through the long golden hours;
And early one morning I saw her tears falling,
And heard a low gossiping talk in the bowers.
The yellow Nasturtium, a spinster all faded,
Was telling a Lily what ailed the poor Rose:
'That wild roving Bee who was hanging about her,
Has jilted her squarely, as everyone knows.
'I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing,
His airs and his speeches so fine and so sweet,
Just how it would end; but no one would believe me,
For all were quite ready to fall at his feet.'
'Indeed, you are wrong,' said the Lily-belle proudly,
'I cared nothing for him, he called on me once,
And would have come often, no doubt, if I'd asked him,
But, though he was handsome, I thought him a dunce.'
'Now, now, that's not true,' cried the tall Oleander.
'He has traveled and seen every flower that grows;
And one who has supped in the garden of princes,
We all might have known would not wed with the Rose.'
'But wasn't she proud when he showed her attention?
And she let him caress her,' said sly Mignonette;
'And I used to see it and blush for her folly.
The silly thing thinks he will come to her yet.'
'I thought he was splendid,' said pretty pert Larkspur,
'So dark, and so grand with that gay cloak of gold;
But he tried once to kiss me, the impudent fellow!
And I got offended; I thought him too bold.'
'Oh, fie!' laughed the Almond, 'that does for a story.
Though I hang down my head, yet I see all that goes;
And I saw you reach out trying hard to detain him,
But he just tapped your cheek and flew by to the Rose.
'He cared nothing for her, he only was flirting
To while away time, as I very well knew;
So I turned a cold shoulder on all his advances,
Because I was certain his heart was untrue.'
'The Rose is served right for her folly in trusting
An oily-tongued stranger,' quoth proud Columbine.
'I knew what he was, and thought once I would warn her,
But of course the affair was no business of mine.'
'Oh, well,' cried the Peony, shrugging her shoulders,
'I saw all along that the Bee was a flirt;
But the Rose has been always so praised and so petted,
I thought a good lesson would do her no hurt.'
Just then came the sound of a love-song sung sweetly,
I saw my proud Rose lifting up her bowed head;
And the talk of the gossips was hushed in a moment,
And the flowers all listened to hear what was said.
And the dark, handsome Bee, with his cloak o'er his shoulder,
Came swift through the sunlight and kissed the sad Rose,
And whispered: 'My darling, I've roved the world over,
And you are the loveliest flower that grows.'
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (The Gossips by Ella Wheeler Wilcox )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 January 1832 – 14 January 1898)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- A Thing of Beauty (Endymion), John Keats
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou