Arthur Upson

(1877-1908 / United States)

Old Gardens - Poem by Arthur Upson

The white rose tree that spent its musk
For lovers' sweeter praise,
The stately walks we sought at dusk,
Have missed these many days.

Again, with once-familiar feet,
I tread the old parterre--
But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet
Than when thy face was there.

I hear the birds of evening call;
I take the wild perfume;
I pluck a rose--to let it fall
And perish in the gloom.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



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