Poems (Dorr)/The Clay to the Rose

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THE CLAY TO THE ROSE
O beautiful, royal Rose, O Rose, so fair and sweet!Queen of the garden art thou, And I—the Clay at thy feet!
The butterfly hovers about thee; The brown bee kisses thy lips;And the humming-bird, reckless rover, Their marvellous sweetness sips.
The sunshine hastes to caress thee Flying on pinions fleet;The dew-drop sleeps in thy bosom, But I—I lie at thy feet!
The radiant morning crowns thee; And the noon's hot heart is thine;And the starry night enfolds thee In the might of its love divine;
I hear the warm rain whisper Its message soft and sweet;And the south-wind's passionate murmur, While I lie low at thy feet!
It is not mine to approach thee; I never may kiss thy lips,Or touch the hem of thy garment With tremulous finger-tips.
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Yet, O thou beautiful Rose! Queen rose, so fair and sweet,What were lover or crown to thee Without the Clay at thy feet?
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