Poems (Proctor)/The Rose-Bush in Autumn

​
THE ROSE-BUSH IN AUTUMN.
I know, and the sunset-angel knows,Painter nor palette could paint the rose,The bush that tall by the border grows And waves in the wind to-day!—Ruby and brown where the green has fled,Bronzed, and brightened with gold and red,Purple and amber, so lit and wedBy the sun in the soft blue overhead And the light wind's careless sway,That the perfect bloom of its summer flowersIs poor to the wealth of these autumn hours,And the richest jewels of Asia's minesAre pale to the hues of its pendent vines And the tints of its topmost spray!
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.