Gertrude Bartlett

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Gertrude Bartlett Poems

THERE sounds his step receding on the stair,
The bridegroom's, that my love could not detain;
For whose captivity the woman's snare
...

THE end that Love doth seek, what bard can say,
In that fair season when the tender green
Of opening leaves doth roof the woods of May,
...

O LOVE, put by the flute.
Too slight the tender, liquid strain
We heard amid the April rain
Of wild white blooms, to voice the spell
...

WHO may the victors be, not yet we know;
Our care, all sights set true, the shell in place,
The flame outleaping, sending death apace
...

Gertrude Bartlett Biography

Gertrude Bartlett (1876-1942) was a Canadian poet. Life Bartlett was born in New Haven, New York, to Mary Moulton and William Cheever Bartlett. She came to Montreal at 17 and found work in Macdonald and Marsh, the law firm of Sir John A. Macdonald. In 1891 she married English artist John W.C. Taylor, and spent a year in England. The couple had one daughter.)

The Best Poem Of Gertrude Bartlett

Ballade Of Barren Roses

THERE sounds his step receding on the stair,
The bridegroom's, that my love could not detain;
For whose captivity the woman's snare
Of veilèd brows was woven all in vain.
A rose I held he keeps with tender care.
Tell him, dear Jesu, that no blossom blows
For its own beauty, howsoever rare.
The Lord of Life loves not a barren rose.

The destiny of roses is to bear
Their scarlet fruit through drear autumnal rain;
To hold upon the crystal drifting air
Of winter days the cups that pour again
New springtime loveliness for earth to wear,
When all the verdure now her bounds enclose
Is gone forever, lily with the tare.
For this our Lord loves not a barren rose.

What thought of his is left for me to share
Aroused from that rapt dream in which we twain
Lighted our little lamps of joy, to flare
Along a single path to Love's domain?
Will he, in that mysterious region where
The ruby chalice on his vision glows,
Exceeding all the stars, remembrance spare
To one his Lord loves not, a barren rose?

Envoy

O Mystic Rose, the heart of Jesu, fair
Creative source from which all beauty flows,
Ever transfusing Love, hear now my prayer:
Resume for Love's own sake one barren rose.

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