Damask Rose Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Damask rose, how rare your beauty holds the light,
Your attar nape subdues the fears of night.
And how beautifully damask your lowly crimson cheek
Is with kisses and sunlight fed.

With midnight oils in sunlit soils,
No brighter bloom there is, or e'er will be—
Oh, damask rose in flaming clothes,
Nothing is more intoxicating to a bee.

But in man's hand, a maiden fair,
With hazelnut brown hair,
And roving hands—limbs that exult in hymns;
The answer to a prayer.

..


Damask rose, how fair your beauty holds the light,
Your attar nape subdues the fears of night.
And how beautifully damask your lowly crimson head
Is with dew and sunlight fed.

With midnight oils in sunlit soils,
Not a fairer beauty is, or e'er will be—
Oh, damask rose in flaming clothes,
What more beauty could there be?

But in man's hand, a maiden fair,
With hazelnut brown hair,
And roving hands—limbs that exult in hymns;
The answer to a prayer.