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James Russell Lowell - The Rose: A BalladJames Russell Lowell - The Rose: A Ballad
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I In his tower sat the poet   Gazing on the roaring sea, `Take this rose,` he sighed, `and throw it   Where there`s none that loveth me. On the rock the billow bursteth   And sinks back into the seas, But in vain my spirit thirsteth   So to burst and be at ease. Take, O sea! the tender blossom   That hath lain against my breast; On thy black and angry bosom   It will find a surer rest. Life is vain, and love is hollow,   Ugly death stands there behind, Hate and scorn and hunger follow   Him that toileth for his kind.` Forth into the night he hurled it,   And with bitter smile did mark How the surly tempest whirled it   Swift into the hungry dark. Foam and spray drive back to leeward,   And the gale, with dreary moan, Drifts the helpless blossom seaward,   Through the breakers all alone. II Stands a maiden, on the morrow,   Musing by the wave-beat strand, Half in hope and half in sorrow,   Tracing words upon the sand: `Shall I ever then behold him   Who hath been my life so long, Ever to this sick heart told him,   Be the spirit of his song? Touch not, sea, the blessed letters   I have traced upon thy shore, Spare his name whose spirit fetters   Mine with love forevermore!` Swells the tide and overflows it,   But, with omen pure and meet, Brings a little rose, and throws it   Humbly at the maiden`s feet. Full of bliss she takes the token,   And, upon her snowy breast, Soothes the ruffled petals broken   With the ocean`s fierce unrest. `Love is thine, O heart! and surely   Peace shall also be thine own, For the heart that trusteth purely   Never long can pine alone.` III In his tower sits the poet,   Blisses new and strange to him Fill his heart and overflow it   With a wonder sweet and dim. Up the beach the ocean slideth   With a whisper of delight, And the moon in silence glideth   Through the peaceful blue of night. Rippling o`er the poet`s shoulder   Flows a maiden`s golden hair, Maiden lips, with love grown bolder,   Kiss his moon-lit forehead bare. `Life is joy, and love is power,   Death all fetters doth unbind, Strength and wisdom only flower   When we toil for all our kind. Hope is truth,--the future giveth   More than present takes away, And the soul forever liveth   Nearer God from day to day.` Not a word the maiden uttered,   Fullest hearts are slow to speak, But a withered rose-leaf fluttered   Down upon the poet`s cheek.
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